


Faithful, Obedient Servant

by Teland



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BDSM, Biting, Blood Drinking, Branding, Choking, Cuddling & Snuggling, F/M, First Time, Frottage, Genital Torture, Grief/Mourning, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Magic, Multiverse, Oral Sex, Rimming, Romance, Rough Oral Sex, Sex Toys, Sexual Fantasy, Teacher/Student, Telepathy, Vaginal Sex, soulbond, teaching kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-06-01 15:07:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 94,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15145793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teland/pseuds/Teland
Summary: "Let me live in you, my liege."Bruce blinks —And Jason smiles wryly, feeling the *weight* of his own manipulation — and his own endless, endless need.And need to *live*."Let me live in you, and, when you cannot stand that —""I —""Let me live *with* you.""I *want* that —""And when you cannot stand *that*, my liege, let me live *near* you, close enough to your light, and life, and *passion* that I may *feel* it," Jason says, and he knows he's baring his *teeth*, but —But."And, my liege, when you cannot stand even that... well. Let me live *for* you."





	1. Changing the world, one possessed tween at a time.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [naughtypixie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/naughtypixie/gifts), [the_Jack](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_Jack/gifts).



> Disclaimers: Not mine, except for what is.
> 
> Spoilers/Timeline: There are a *lot* of references in this — AU-ized and not — to a lot of canonical events in various comics over the decades, but I'm *pretty* sure none of the comics referenced is newer than ~2008 or so. Takes place just about six years after The Alley, when Bruce is 13-14.
> 
> If you're interested, [this](https://teland.dreamwidth.org/671900.html) is the meta-timeline I used, which assumes Bruce is born in 1960.
> 
> Author's Note: So this story has been kicking around for *years* in my WIP folder, as some of you have probably guessed. It's always been one of my favorites, though, so I never gave up on it — even years after I gave up on DCU fandom as a whole. I always hoped that one day *something* would allow me to finish this, and, happily, my little love Pixie managed to give me the gentle kick in the pants to do it. 
> 
> Acknowledgments: Much love and gratitude to Pixie, Spice, Mildred, Nonie, Greyandgold, my beloved and beloved super-mega-ultra!editor Jack, and everyone else who has given me their time, attention, patience, affection, and care with this story. You are all loved. You are all appreciated. 
> 
> Always.

The chime of the doorbell is a formality — as is the distinctive triple-knock, the gentle kick to the lower half of the door to his shop, and the magically-enhanced clearing of Jason's visitor's throat. 

Jason knows precisely who *is* visiting — and how long he's been lurking outside the door, undoubtedly glamoured to look *harmless* — and — 

Well... no. Jason *doesn't* know why there's a Jason Blood from some other universe asking — thankfully politely — for entry, and any attempt to discern the reason for the visit without — also politely — *asking*...

Well. That would almost certainly end... badly. 

Jason sighs and smooths the short length of faded vermilion silk ribbon into the determinedly nameless grimoire — the last few mages who had attempted *to* name the thing had ended very badly indeed — he'd been perusing to while away the hours, closes it, tucks it away into one of the pocket dimensions he keeps for items he knows are dangerous but is not yet sure how *cataclysmically* so they are — 

He gestures the door to open. 

The Blood who walks in is wearing a glamour which gives him a certain Moorish look about the hair, complexion, and mouth, but he's done nothing about his — their — height, build, and overall affect. 

They rarely do when they go... a-visiting. Still. Jason raises an eyebrow. 

The visiting Blood inclines his head and takes his own form, revealing himself as one of the more scarred Bloods Jason has come in contact with. He's kept both of his eyes — which are still a brown Jason can't help but consider *correct* — but there is still significant — and shocking — *burn*-scarring along the right side of his jaw and throat, and the way he's moving suggests that the scarring continues far enough under his — entirely real — clothing that he'd have some difficulty wielding a sword with that arm. 

And Jason can — and should — ask. "Is that something you could help me avoid, Mr. Blood?" 

Blood's smile is pulled — slightly — off-true by the scarring. "I recommend *strongly* that you never weaken Etrigan enough that he *can't* protect you from other fire-mages. Beyond that..." He shrugs. 

Jason frowns. "We are fire-mages. The spell binding our souls to Etrigan would have it no other way." 

"Or so it would seem," Blood says, and shrugs again. "There is always someone more powerful. There is always something more to learn. There is always another *vulnerability* to exploit. You know this." 

"*Very* well. But —" 

"*But*..." And Blood raises two fingers on his — apparently whole *enough* — left hand. "You'll agree that our fire powers weaken dramatically when certain events *occur*...?" 

Jason — inhales. "Certain events which include Etrigan attacking us precipitously enough that we are able to — temporarily — break him." 

"Humiliate him." 

"Render him... useless," Jason says, and nods. "You were left with the blood — and the shadows?" 

"Just so," Blood says, lowering his left hand and folding *both* hands behind his back. "Though little enough of the former, as I had been trying *very* hard to 'behave' in a world where the vast majority of my allies — and the individuals who peopled my social calendar, such as it *was* — were people... hm. You work with a Justice Society in this world from time to time, do you not?" 

Jason raises an eyebrow again. "I do, yes —" 

"One moment. Do you take my point?" 

Jason lets his expression turn sour. "That, no matter *how* tempting it becomes, I must *never* break my guest to the point where he cannot rouse himself sufficiently well to protect both of us? Yes, I do. Did he...?" 

Blood shows his teeth again. "'tis a singular experience to hear — and smell, and taste, and see, and *feel* — a fire-demon *bitch* about the pain of being *burnt*. I find myself *deeply* apologetic about the fact that I *can't* recommend it." 

They hum together. 

"But you were saying about your allies...?" And Blood raises an eyebrow.

Jason inclines his head. "Most of the Society is, at this point, rather on their way to retirement — assuming their foolish insistence on allowing even their *worst* enemies to live *doesn't* get them all killed." And Jason doesn't bother to make that sound like any more of a question than they both already know it was. The other Blood will share detailed information about Jason's allies... or he won't. 

"Yes, that was... itself. It's currently nineteen-seventy-three here?"

"'Seventy-four." 

"Thank you," Blood says, and his expression turns distantly thoughtful for a long moment before he takes another deep breath and nods decisively. "You're going to lose the recidivism argument." 

"Mr. Blood, I've *already* lost —" 

"No. You've lost the *battle*. There *will* be other battles as the next generation of heroes comes of age — and the next generations *plural* after *that*. And... you have a wonderful opportunity to make sure you win *those* battles and, thus, the war." 

Jason cocks his head to the side and considers for a moment — "You're saying that — indirectly, at least — your agreement to live by the rules of the Society and their successors —" 

"*Weakened* me, Mr. Blood. Weakened me on *all* levels, because associating with people who believed they had the right to be *my* moral arbiters meant that I wasn't *feeding* on *nearly* enough blood and violence and — well." 

"Not death." 

"Never that," Blood says, and shows his teeth. The scar tissue pulls and twitches twice before stilling entirely unnaturally. "Any number of my fellow magic-users in my home dimension cut themselves off at the *knees* so as to continue to feel *worthy* of walking in the *light*. It was *pathetic* —" 

"Then why did you *do* it?" 

Blood's grimace of a smile widens for a moment as he closes his eyes — 

Jason *waits* —

And then Blood opens his eyes again and gives him a very *hard* look. "Nineteen-seventy-four, you said." 

"Yes —" 

"It's been *six* years, hasn't it." 

Jason — doesn't flinch. 

He knows Blood saw it anyway. He knows — 

Jason shudders and pushes a hand back through his hair, which has already grown back to the length Martha had preferred — and beyond. Cutting it all off had done nothing for the pain but give it an all-too-brief physicality and — "Of course it has. What of it." 

Blood shows his teeth again. "You haven't gone back for the boy." 

Jason says nothing. 

"You haven't gone *back* for the boy, even though he is your *liege* —" 

"*Shut* it —" 

"And he has *no* one to care for him in the *absence* of that *arsehole* Thomas and of Martha, dear Martha, but those dried-up old prunes Pennyworth and *Thompkins* —" 

"He's been perfectly safe!" 

Blood laughs darkly. "You watch over him." 

"Of *course* —" 

"Do you exterminate the Manor...?"

Jason — doesn't look away. 

"Do you chase away all the living and undead *detritus* that backs *up* in that supernatural *sinkhole* old Hez inflicted on the countryside?" 

Hezekiah Wayne had *ruined* the countryside with his workings, his efforts to give himself and his descendants power — and power to change the world for the better — 

But thinking of Hez right now is nothing but old pain, *elderly* *grief* — 

Hez had died young and in pain for his audacity, and there had been all too little Jason could do about it. And *that*, of course... 

There are times when it seems that no one has ever died younger, more cruelly, than his Martha. Jason balls his hands into fists *helplessly* — 

"I understand, of course," Blood says, and paces around Jason. This close, Jason can hear the unevenness in his tread. "It's been a *long* six years — and it's been altogether too short, as well. She haunts us in some universes —" 

"What?" 

Blood meets his gaze with a rueful smile. "Not mine. I spent the first *decade* — and then some — after the alley brooding in here," he says, and gestures at the shop, "and alternating between trying not to remember the taste of her cunt in the moments after I'd made her come screaming... and trying to remember nothing *but*." 

Jason squeezes his eyes shut — no. He opens them. He — "Yes. But... she haunts others of us?" 

Blood inclines his head. 

They're close enough that their auras are speaking to each other — and irritating each other — but there is the usual moment of absolute *emotional* comfort and rightness to the feel of another Jason Blood being as fully-powered as he *can* be. Whatever he was doing for the past however many years in his own universe, he's not weakening himself *now*. That will always be enough to soothe several of the more *and* less usefully paranoid parts of himself. 

And — 

He is still capable of thought. "You believe that it would be — no. You're here to *urge* me to join Bruce." 

"I'm *here* to urge you to *take* Bruce." 

Jason *blinks* —

And Blood laughs softly. "By the time Thomas came of age in *my* universe, I had well and truly begun the process of convincing myself to break my promise to Hezekiah; man, witch, and shade; and leave the service of the Waynes. Does that sound familiar?" 

Jason takes a breath — and inclines his head. "They've been all but worthless for the past few generations, though they *have* still given me their blood when the time has come." 

"The barest, thinnest, least useful *minimum*. And they've raised their children to be parasites, *and* not one of them knew what to do with a vassal — as opposed to a *servant*." 

Jason sneers. "Or a *serf*." 

"Just so," Blood says. "But then there was Bruce." 

Jason — doesn't cross his arms over his chest. He would like, very much, to have something sharp in his hands for the comfort. For the reminder *not* to fiddle — "He is a beautiful boy. And Martha —" 

"Martha was *insane* —"

"She *loved* him, Blood —" 

"*Insanely*... but yes, I do *not* disagree. Certainly, *I* did little enough to alleviate her influence," Blood says, and raises an eyebrow. 

Jason takes another breath and inclines his head. There were, of course, *several* moments of her influence which had to be alleviated *here*, as well. She was — "She was... not meant for motherhood." 

Blood laughs. "No, she was *not*. Still..." He pins Jason with a look. "You know what she would say about what you've been doing for the past six years, Jason. And what —" 

"I *haven't* been doing, yes, I — I know, Blood. Cerberus' *cock*. I know you've been *busy* over in your dimension, but didn't you ever get the chance to figure out that it's *better* if you give yourself the chance to *grieve* every now and again?" 

Blood shows his teeth again. "You've *had* your chance." 

"Blood —" 

"You've. Had. Your. *Chance*," Blood says, and jabs at the air without *quite* touching Jason's chest. "We'll be able to — with *help* — keep Gotham from collapsing into the hells. We'll be able to — with *help* — keep assorted heroes alive as they do what they need to do to save the universe in other ways. We'll be able to — with *and* without help — continue the process of exterminating every last malevolent creature which makes the mistake of finding itself at the end of one of our *swords*. However." 

Oh... "What." 

"We will *not* be able to stop a supervillain from creating a manufactured plague which kills *millions* all over the *world* before a cure is found — a supervillain who wasn't killed when the chance was there. We will *not* be able to stop a *different* supervillain from *vaporizing* every last man, woman, and child in Coast City — a supervillain who, again, *could* have been stopped before he *ever* did such a thing. We will *also* not be able to stop a *different* supervillain from getting access to a nuclear weapon —" 

Jason snarls. "Give me *names*!" 

"Some of the *choice* offenders are Lex Luthor, Darkseid, Mongo, Cheshire... and, of course, the heroes who lose the plot *entirely* truly don't make us look very good, *either*. *Do* keep a weather eye on Hal Jordan when you get the chance." 

"I'll kill them all *now* —" 

"Mr. Blood. You *know* we can't *do* that," Blood says, and — looks at him. 

And Jason — stands down again. 

Paces. 

Paces behind the counter. 

Sits on his stool. 

Stands up. 

Pulls a sword from one of his pocket dimensions and studies the balance, the heft, the degree of decay both magical and otherwise — the curse is strong; the steel is stronger.

He puts the sword *back* — and breathes, covering his face for a long moment. "There are times when I wonder what it would've been like to be an earth-mage," Jason says, and drags his hands down off his face.

Blood hums. "Rather smellier, I'd say. What with the constant barrage of familiars from a well-meaning Mother." 

Jason makes a noncommittal noise. Many of his *most* successful relationships over the centuries have been with earth-mages, and he already knows the same was true for other Bloods. *This* Blood... has been poorer. 

And, at the moment, he is laughing at Jason with his entirely-correct eyes...

Jason nods once. "You've heard what I wish to say from other Jasons." 

"I have, indeed." 

"Then I will not say it," Jason says, and spreads his hands. 

Blood inclines his head, leaning back against the one bare patch of wall in the shop. 

Jason *keeps* it bare *precisely* for those visitors he receives who feel the need to *pose* — and he *can* think about the *meat* of Blood's words, to at least a certain extent. "How *often* do you go from universe to universe to be the bearer of distinctly horrible news?" 

"Often enough. You'll do it, too — if you bollocks this up." 

"Mm, yes. 'This'. Well, then, Blood. *Tell* me how taking Bruce will —" But. It's clear enough. Jason nods slowly and sits back down on the stool. "He's planning to become a vigilante." 

"I've met precisely *one* Jason Blood who has told me about a Bruce who *hadn't* given himself over to decidedly violent justice — in one way or another — and *that* Jason had *not* seen that Bruce for himself." 

Jason licks his teeth and nods again. "And... he is exceptional." 

"He always has been." 

"He is exceptionally *obsessive*." 

"He always will *be*." 

Jason meets Blood's eyes. "Will he lead them?" 

Blood spreads his hands. "That I cannot say. He *usually* does... but. We — this is not the only early-to-mid-seventies Gotham I'm visiting — are trying something new. The Bruce who leads — or who leads in conjunction with the *remarkably* pretty and *ludicrously* powerful and *terrifyingly* benign alien currently being raised as close to humanly as possible in Smallville, Kansas —" 

"Name?" 

"In most universes; Clark Jerome Kent. There are occasionally Claras, Irenes, Moseses — if you happen to find one of *those*, intervene *sooner* rather than later —" 

"Oh, dear." 

"Yes, I see I don't *have* to elaborate on *that* danger. In any event, he is most often raised by Jonathan and Martha Kent." 

Jason doesn't flinch. 

Blood raises his eyebrow *slightly* — and then lowers it again before nodding. "Consider intervening *anyway*, as our liege could *dearly* use a friend at this point in his life, even beyond his need for *you*." 

Jason inclines his head again. "But you were saying?" 

"Yes. The Bruce who leads — and who does so seemingly effortlessly even to those of us who *can* occasionally peek beneath all the masks — is most often a Bruce who was raised by the dry old *sticks*. A Bruce who *marinated* in his loneliness, and grief, and fear, and confusion, and sadness, and *frustrated* rage. The *truth* is that I do not *know* what brightening his world will do for him and *to* him beyond giving him what I've *needed* to give him —" Blood shudders and covers his *own* face for a moment. 

Jason waits — 

And Blood drops his hands again. "I am, of course, no altruist. He is lovely now, strong and kind and brilliant and noble and *true*. The man he grows into surpasses *all* of that —" 

"Then *why* should I *intervene*?" 

"Because there are times — many times — when he *stops* surpassing all of that and becomes small and petty and fearful. When he strikes *out* at the people he loves — and who love him. My Bruce will be forty-three this year, and he has no bloody clue how to go about having a successful relationship with *anyone*. Be it friendship, romance, partnership — anything. Sooner or later, he finds a way to *sabotage* it, even when he doesn't mean to do *anything* of the kind. Even when his loneliness drives him to his knees and makes him weep and rail and *scream* at the driving and *cruel* voices in his head." 

Jason rears back — 

And Blood shows his teeth again. "Yes. You *know* about the voices in his head. They came to him *young*." 

"I..." Jason turns away for a moment. 

"He will not let me free him from them, Mr. Blood. He will not let me..." Blood laughs darkly. "He *apologized* for not letting me do it, and there is no part of me which does not know *perfectly* well that the reason why he won't let me do it is that he's afraid of losing his *one* constant *companion* —" 

Jason raises his hand. "I... wasn't certain about the possession." 

"Neither was I for quite some time," Blood says, and sighs. "The demon in question is *remarkably* subtle. I allowed that lack of certainty... well, you can guess." And he stares into Jason for a long moment. 

"What?" 

"You know what I'm going to ask." 

Jason — doesn't close his eyes. It would be pointless. "Of course I've thought about allowing my *grief* to act as the final severing of my bond to the Wayne family — no," Jason says, and laughs derisively at himself. "I've thought about allowing the *excuse* of my grief to facilitate the final *break*. I've been able to give them little of any *use* for the past century and a *half*; it certainly doesn't *look* like I'll make any progress in the next thirty *years* in breaking the *curse* on the line... and they have left me lonely, angry, and *deeply* embittered. I do not need that in my life." 

Blood smiles — a true one. "No, you don't. More to the point, the *multiverse* doesn't need ones such as us wandering about distinctly black about the spirit. But... he can make you happy." 

"Blood — *Mr.* Blood —" 

"You need not stand on ceremony with me —" 

"And yet I'm feeling a distinct bout of *formal* bitchery coming on," Jason says, and raises an eyebrow. 

Blood laughs, scar-tissue twitching again — 

Again — 

It stops, and Blood flourishes like a vaudevillian. "*Do* go on." 

"As you *say*," Jason says. "You've *just* finished telling me that Bruce Wayne is a walking, talking, criminal-brutalizing emotional *disaster*. Why in the name of Lilith's *voluminous* womb would I want to subject myself to *that*?" 

"Because you're one of *us*, and you'll get *off* on it —"

"Mr. Blood —" 

"You *will* — but I'll be serious, too," Blood says, and raises an eyebrow. 

Jason raises his own and crosses his arms over his chest. 

Blood laughs. "Stubborn. I remember how Martha used to *drive* herself to new depths — and heights — of depravity whenever I showed *any* signs of trying to put my foot down. About *anything*. 

Jason *stiffens* — and laughs ruefully as he reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "It took no time whatsoever for me to reach a point where I had no idea —" 

"Whether you wanted to play the stern disciplinarian with her more often or *not*...?" 

"Precisely*," Jason says, and smiles. "So few of my lovers have been so *consistently* terrifying in positive ways." 

Blood smiles *fondly* — "He is his mother's son." 

"Blood —" 

"He is. His mother's. *Son*." 

Jason looks away for a moment — 

And Blood laughs. "He sketches each and every day. Beautiful art of beautiful *things* — and people. Were his loved ones to *see* how Bruce depicts them in his countless sketchbooks, they would never doubt his love — and fear, and need, and hunger, and abject *lust* — for them. When he does allow himself to make love, the profoundly lucky person is shagged until they're *unconscious*, at which point he whispers fervid and *fervent* poetry as he washes them clean and cares for them in every possible way. When he's *not* punishing his body in order to make it into the perfect instrument of justice — and sometimes when he *is* — he is designing beautiful architecture which can nonetheless be implemented as low-cost housing for the poor, or planning ways to expand the Wayne Foundation charities, or simply dreaming of ways he can improve the lives of the many, many people he loves *madly* without their knowing he's doing it. He is... beautiful." 

Jason strokes the surface of the counter with his fingertips and frowns. "What of the curse." 

"Ah, yes. Well. We could say that the Wayne madness is what drives him to go out and become yet another vigilante — and one who wears his pants outside his tights, yet. Or we could say that the madness is what leaves him incapable of filling the holes in his heart with the many, many people who would do anything to *heal* him. Or we could say that the madness is what leads him to... splinter his personality — his *psyche* — into rather distinct and often fascinating *shards* over the years. Shards which become more and more real — more true and *separate* — as the years pass. Or we could say that the madness is what leads him to *help* his partners do the same thing to their *own* psyches —" 

Jason *hisses* and looks up. "Why didn't you *stop* him?" 

Blood smiles wryly. "I have many answers to that question, Mr. Blood. The *truest* one is, I believe, this: The more fractured his partners became, the easier it was for Bruce to be with them for longer periods of time. If one part of him needed to drive one part of *them* away... there were still the other parts to be considered." 

Jason narrows his eyes. 

"And, yes, the vast *mess* of it all was beautiful enough to me, in its way. The partners he takes for himself — and they're *all* children, by the way —" 

"You're joking." 

"I am *not*," Blood says, grinning and adjusting his lean until he can cross his legs at the ankles. "He picks up one — *stunningly* beautiful — boy when he's *twelve*. Kidnaps him, truly —" 

"Is squiring in *fashion* again in your universe?" 

"Not even *remotely*. And *apprenticeship* isn't *either*. No, it's all very *suspect* when Bruce starts taking on child partners, and the *only* reasons it works are that one, Bruce is magnificent at *everything* he does, including training children to be *interestingly*-armed soldiers, and two, the children he chooses — and who choose him — are magnificent in their own right." 

"And mad." 

"Mais bien sûr," Blood says, and sighs. "*Bruce* starts the fashion, just as he brings a whole new generation of vigilantes — heroes — out of the woodwork to, more or less, follow his lead in the first place." 

"Blood..." 

"Yes, yes, I know. I *distinctly* remember how much *fun* I had watching Bruce grow from the shadows of Martha's boudoir — and how much philosophizing I did about the nature of childhood, and how special it is, and how marvelous it is that humanity — and otherwise — was finally giving it a chance to *flourish*." 

"You've changed your *mind*?" 

"Bruce's partners — every last *one* of them — and their equally young allies have *all* had a hand in saving the world — and the multiverse as a *whole*, Mr. Blood. More than *once*," Blood says, and spreads his hands. "We would not be who we are if we were not willing to break a few children for the good of life *itself*." 

Jason represses a shudder. "No, we would not be. Still —" 

"Still, *you* could make a few changes. Here and there, and *hopefully* not too many of the *wrong* ones. Take Bruce for your own. Teach him. Make him happy. Make *yourself* happy. Teach him to love the children *and* adults who will *flock* to his beautiful and *true* heart *without* chasing them away every time his mind fills with the memory of the stink of his parents' blood —" 

"And let you live vicariously through me?" 

Blood practically *barks* a laugh. "Mais. Bien. Sûr. My Bruce... is not my own. *My* Bruce has a *fair* idea of what it means that he is my liege — and he gives me so *very* much more of what I need than *any* of his ancestors have since the days of Marius and *Marie-Helene*. But..." He shrugs again. "He is not my own, and he never will be. He does not take comfort from the knowledge that there is nothing that will take me from his side should he need me, because he doesn't feel himself worthy of that. He *flinched* the first time — and every time — I knelt to him. He does not even *allow* himself to listen to me tell him stories of his ancestors, because —" 

"Might it have something to do with the fact that he knows you were shagging his beloved mother *while* she was married to his beloved father?" 

"That *did* have something to do with it — you'll have to explain the 'facts of life' to him, since *Pennyworth* surely won't — but mostly..." Blood shakes his head. "Mostly, he is crippled by his self-loathing, and his sense of himself as someone who does not deserve everything he has been given — but especially not everything that smacks of warmth, friendship, companionship, and love." 

"Except, of course, for the companionship of whatever it is that's *possessing* him." 

"Except for that, yes," Blood says, and sighs. "I've studied it as much as I could, from the distance I've been forced to maintain. It is almost certainly from the darkling class and *far* more subtle than powerful."

Jason nods. "If it *were* truly powerful, it would've taken more from him — or at least *done* more with its control of him." 

"Just so. Not even its torment is complete," Blood says, uncrossing his legs and standing up out of his lean. 

Jason looks at him for a long moment. 

Blood hums in satisfaction. "You'll do it." 

"I'll *free* him. And — talk to him." 

Blood shows his teeth. "That is, of course, *all* I can ask," he says, and bows. "Did you have any other questions — no, wait: There is a local boy that Bruces tend to meet at Exeter named Harvey Dent. They tend to fall madly in love with each other in deeply stressful and *constrained* ways which are nonetheless powerfully true and romantic..." 

Jason fights back a wave of jealousy he has no idea what to *do* with — 

And Blood laughs heartily as he opens a portal. "Dent tends to lose the plot spectacularly — and spectacularly violently — when he reaches his mid-to-late twenties. This wounds Bruce's heart — his *soul* — in ways which no one at all has ever found a way to *alleviate*, much less heal. That wound is, by far, the one *most* likely to drive him to torture and *abandon* his loved ones in cyclic turns. I'll leave it up to you whether and *how* you decide to meddle in *that* particular melodrama... but I will say this: The man Dent is *before* he breaks would've made the man you used to be — and, yes, I *am* speaking about Guthlac of Mercia — follow him off a *cliff*. And Darwyn, too." 

Jason inhales sharply and *stiffens* against the need to fall for at *least* the fifty *thousandth* time into memories of Darwyn's strong, hard, *gentle* hands; Darwyn's proud and loving smiles; Darwyn's open *arms* — and Darwyn's truly remarkable nobility, intellect, and *honour*. Jason can do nothing to repress a shiver. "As you say. Are there other important names you feel comfortable giving me?" 

"Even knowing that you're plotting *absolute* space-time-buggering mayhem on people who may grow up wholly innocent of *any* crimes in this universe?" Blood laughs again. "Of *course* I do. Make *certain* Bruce can acquire Richard John 'Dick' Grayson for himself as quickly as possible once he turns thirteen or so — though there *are* a handful of universes I've heard about where Bruce picks the boy up when he's *ten*. Or *younger*. In any event, the boy is mad as a hatter, brilliant, and can do things with his body which would make the most acrobatic whores in the multiverse weep and *retire*. And that's *before* he actually starts making *love* with people."

"Bruce's first partner?" 

"Oh, yes. It *also* wounds dear Bruce's heart that he fails to save Dick's parents from being murdered — in front of *both* of them —" 

Jason rears *back* — 

"These things happen, Mr. Blood. And happen again. And again. And *again*. Sometimes? It's better to *let* them." 

Jason narrows his eyes — 

And Blood laughs more. "Yes, yes, *do* make your own judgments on that score. Jason Peter Todd is an earth-mage with a truly impressive amount of power over and above the truly impressive connection he has to the All-Mother —" 

"*All* of Her witch-children —" 

"Are connected impressively, yes. But She built *him* from the ground up — if you'll forgive the pun — and tends to take a deeply *focused* interest in him, as opposed to Her usual laissez-faire, there-when-they-*call*-Her approach." 

"And yet he is one of Bruce's partners?" 

"Oh, yes. The one he *kidnaps*, yet. Love at first sight, you see. Bruce loses everything *resembling* control around the boy *quickly* — he's usually fucking him into an entirely new shape *before* the boy's thirteenth birthday — but this *generally* works out well enough, as Mr. Todd loves dear Bruce right back. The problem is that many Mr. Todds do *not* love their witchery, and *that*... often tends to get them into decidedly *fatal* trouble," Blood says, and raises an eyebrow. 

Jason inclines his head. "You are heard." 

"Good. Timothy Jackson Drake is an obsessive little stalker who may be *physically* incapable of going an entire twenty-four period without lying to *someone*. He's also something of a sociopath, has a penchant for the more tortuous side of informal interrogation, and is never more likely to smile — as opposed to allowing his prim little mouth to twitch ambiguously — than in the moments after he's thoroughly reamed himself with one of his clever and not *especially* modest toys, while silently begging one — absent — vigilante or another to please, please, *please* stop raping him." 

"So you've written your marriage proposal?"

"Every day — in my secret and entirely un-beholden heart of hearts," Blood says, and smiles ruefully. "Bruce loves him desperately — and *already* fears his tendency to pack up and leave the *continent* when he's annoyed enough —" 

"He would, perhaps, fall into a welter of himself should you ply your own troth." 

"*Just* so. You could fix that, too. A big, sticky familial orgy —" 

"Is just as possible in *your* universe, Blood." 

Blood *laughs* ruefully. "Is it...? Well, many things under the sun, moon, and ever-shifting stars *are* possible, I suppose. Stephanie Jean Brown —" 

"Oh. Yes?" 

"Be *prepared* for a positive *explosion* of powerful, beautiful, and staggeringly *starkers* women to be running and jumping and teleporting and flying about fighting *crime*, Mr. Blood. *This* one is rather *pugnaciously* cheerful, determinedly *moral*, shamelessly idealistic... and the sort of woman who wears *cowboy* boots to visit her father in prison *solely* to make the *vicious* kicking she gives him that much more satisfying. She is — quite often throughout the multiverse — Timothy Drake's lover of varying degrees of chasteness. Together and separately, directly and *paradoxically*, they drive Bruce mad while filling him with hope, joy, light, life, et cetera, et *cetera*."

"And yet you're quite certain *we* have something to offer Bruce?" 

"Oh, *yes*. Even if you decide to *behave* yourself with Bruce — and I will not be able to blame you if you do — you now know about these beautiful paragons. Every last one of them — and some few others — can and *will* make the world a *notably* better place with Bruce's help — and your own, in the case of Mr. Todd. *You* can smooth over the rough spots *when* they happen, Mr. Blood." 

"Assuming my jealousies and lusts..." Jason snorts and raises *both* of his hands. "I know how to find you should I have more questions, Mr. Blood." 

"Yes, I do believe it *is* time for me to take my leave — though." 

"Yes?"

"If you catch Ms. Brown early enough, you might find her *decidedly* pregnant with a young one in need of a good home far away from her and her *deeply* unsuitable biological family — and lactating," Blood says, and winks in the moments before he walks through the portal, closing it behind him. 

Jason laughs and lets himself imagine — 

*Try* to imagine — 

What would a *teenage* female vigilante *look* like?

What would a teenage female vigilante chosen by a *Wayne* look like? 

Zatara had lost control of his powers once and aged Hippolyta down to an approximate *six*-year-old, but that's not an especially helpful — 

There is no part of him which needs to encourage the parts of him which are actively trying to imagine a lactating six-year-old. Certainly not the parts of him which are actively trying to imagine a lactating six-year-old *human*.

Jason sighs and returns to his stool, reaching into the pocket dimension where he'd left the nameless grimoire and wondering why he's thinking about the fact that it's nearly four — 

About the fact that the school day has ended for the vast majority of students in the region —

Including 'middle-school' students like Bruce Wayne.

Oh... dear. Well, not admitting one's desires, drives, and motivations to oneself is an *excellent* way to get *victimized* by them. 

Jason snorts and puts the grimoire away again, glamours himself in a reasonably sober brown suit — Martha had loved the colour, and had enjoyed the way the cut had allowed her to dream of strutting through the town on *his* arm — 

Of dancing with *him* in all the best clubs — 

Of being the *woman* of the oldest, most powerful sorcerer on earth — and the *wife* of no one, at all. 

Jason swallows, and stares at his hands until they stop shaking. Once they do, he pulls one of his *less*-cursed swords from a pocket universe, straps it across his back, and — 

And opens a way to Wayne Manor and walks directly into Bruce's bedroom. 

And waits.


	2. In which Jason is a phenomenal failure at being reassuring, though a success at a few other things.

Jason does a phenomenally bad job of waiting. 

He lasts *nearly* two minutes of lurking in the shadows by the — pulled — drapes before he starts exploring, poking his nose into Bruce's bureau —

The clothes are neat, neatly-folded, and painfully conservative, judging by what Jason has observed of this odd little era.

The same is true for the clothes and shoes in the closet. 

The colognes, cufflinks, watches, and assorted other 'masculine' gewgaws are *also* conservative — he thinks. He must admit that he's far less certain about this sort of thing, as the last time he was well-versed in *this* sort of frippery, it was the mid-nineteenth century, and he was attempting to woo *either* Samuel *or* Eleanor Wayne away from the clutches of their father with assorted *lightly*-enchanted gifts to amaze, astound, et cetera... 

Jason sighs and lifts into his hands the obvious outlier — a silver locket with a fair amount of delicate and subtle filigree on both sides. 

When he opens the clever little clasp, he finds images of Martha when she was no older than seventeen — and Thomas when he was no older than his early twenties. Jason raises an eyebrow and lets the locket swing from its thin and lovely little chain. 

Martha had never — ever — worn this necklace. Even if he didn't know *her* — and her rather *profound* lack of anything resembling sentimentality when the subject matter touched on anything *other* than her beloved son — he would still be able to *taste* her *lack* on this. 

Silver holds *echoes* for ones such as him, and this — 

Hmm. 

*This* necklace speaks profoundly of someone trying very, very hard to build a history that had never actually happened — a history that would, perhaps, comfort a grieving young boy in his hour of need. It's the sort of thing *Jason* would consider doing for someone he loved — if his assorted pettier sides could ever be convinced to *shut* it — and... 

And, perhaps, the other Blood had underestimated the ability of Alfred Pennyworth — once an actor, almost certainly *always* a *spy* — to provide emotional care for —

"Are you a thief." 

Jason blinks. There had been no sound to announce Bruce's — and Jason knows it *is* Bruce — entrance into the room. There had barely been a disturbance in the *air* currents. There had, instead, been a deepening — an increase in the *weight* — of the overall *malevolence* of the house in general. 

And the other Blood wasn't *certain* of the possession? 

*Truly*? 

"I'll need you to answer me, sir. Now." And Bruce's voice is... deep for a boy of thirteen. Low. 

Thomas's had been, too. 

*Jonah's* had been — 

*Hezekiah's* had been, according to the man, himself, and Jason had craved every moment of his life, envied every man, woman, child, and *sheep* who'd had the opportunity to *gaze* upon the wild and strange and *beautiful* madman — 

"I'm going to call the police —" 

"You need not," Jason says, and turns to face — his liege. He thinks about it — he does not try to pull on a smile. Not yet. He lifts the locket. "I was curious about this necklace, but I have no interest in stealing it, Bruce. I..." He tilts his head to the side, and looks the boy over slowly, thoroughly, and *carefully* obviously. "Do you remember me?" 

Bruce frowns... mildly.

It takes a moment to *realize* that the frown is mild, because... 

Because Bruce is Bruce, and even when he was an *infant* in Martha's arms, his every gaseous facial *twitch* could make him look like the most menacing creature on *earth*. Now that he's thirteen years old, and *easily* as tall as some of the *most* puissant knights and pikemen who'd fought at Jason's side in the wars...

*Arthur's* wars — 

Well.

Jason smiles helplessly and sets the locket down where it had been, then folds his hands in front of himself. "It's quite all right if you don't, Bruce. We haven't actually had a *conversation* since you were four —" 

"You're Jason Blood," Bruce says, without shifting his expression a *hair* — no. He frowns *slightly* more deeply. "You were Mother's friend. Why weren't you at the funeral?"

Oh... Jason closes his eyes, and lets his own expression do what it will — but only for a moment. When he opens them, Bruce is studying him with a *dark* curiosity — 

The sort of curiosity which *strongly* suggests that he believes he will not receive anything resembling a satisfactory answer. 

Hm. "I will never lie to you, Bruce." 

Bruce raises an eyebrow with a rather devastating level of *skepticism* for one so young — 

*Martha's* child — and Thomas's, too. Jason laughs softly and shakes his head. "I will not. And I will tell you *why* I will not... soon. First, I will answer your question: I was not at the funeral because I do not, as a rule, grieve in company. When I have lost people I cared about — *especially* people I cared about *deeply* — I have tended to curl in on myself to lick my assorted wounds in private. I do *not* recommend this method of dealing with one's emotional hurts, as, even though I've been *using* this method since the ninth century or so..." 

Bruce blinks. Once. 

Jason grins and laughs softly. "I am a very, very old man, Bruce. But that can wait, too. In any event: crawling under a rock — or into a *cave*, as the case may be — to lick one's wounds is *one* way to deal with them, but it is *not* the best way." 

Bruce blinks again.

Bruce's expression gains *distance* —

And then Bruce blinks one more time, nods, and frowns more deeply. "Then why do you do it?" 

He... Jason raises an eyebrow. "You *could* come further into your room, Bruce." 

"I'm not entirely sure that I'm safe, Mr. Blood." 

Jason smiles and offers his right hand. "You will always be safe with me, Bruce. And, please, call me Jason." 

Bruce narrows his eyes — slightly. "Please tell me why I should consider myself safe with you. Jason." 

Jason takes a deep, shuddering breath — "There are two reasons. The first is that I promised your mother that I would always care for you, and ease you, and, should it become necessary, protect your life with my own. The other... is somewhat more complicated." 

Bruce's expression turns bleak and *hopeless* — 

Dark — 

*Lonely* — 

"Bruce —" 

"I. I would like to hear the other reason now. Jason." 

Jason frowns and — pushes aside the thought of the other Blood's Bruce flinching.

The memory of being treated as a servant. 

The memory of being treated as the family *embarrassment*. It —

None of that is more important right now than giving *this* boy — *this* one — the truth. 

"I'll need you to come — slightly — closer." 

"Why." 

Jason smiles wryly. "I'd like for you to close the door." 

The bleakness in Bruce's eyes fades under a spark of humour far, far too dark for a thirteen-year-old — in this era. "I'm beginning to wonder what you want to show me, Jason." 

Which — really. Jason shows his teeth — and pulls his sword, fast and smoothly. "As well you should." 

And now there's neither bleakness *nor* humour in Bruce's eyes. Now there's curiosity, apprehension — could that be wonder as he stares at the sword?

"Bruce... close the door." 

Bruce takes a deep breath and nods as he does it. 

Jason resists the *powerful* urge to make a comment about being 'alone at last', or a comment about having Bruce 'where he wants him', or any number of the sorts of comments which might have made Martha swat at him, or coo, or giggle, or all of the above. 

Instead, he closes *most* of the distance between them, lowers himself to *one* knee, lowers his head, and *presents* his sword — after first making it *safe* enough for Bruce to touch. 

"Bruce Wayne. I, Jason Blood, do hereby offer my life, faith, loyalty, and service to you and your descendants as I have done to each of your direct ancestors —" 

Bruce gasps — 

And Jason smiles at Bruce's shiny — and not little, at *all* — shoes. "I first offered myself to Hezekiah Wayne — not *especially* long after he arrived on these shores, as these things go. He did not take my service the first time I offered. However, with time, I was able to convince him of how very useful I could be. I belong to you, Bruce, as I have belonged to your family since late in the sixteenth century. Make use of me, and I will be a happy man."

Bruce *pants* — "I... I don't... I was never — I didn't know!" 

Jason inclines his head. "I suspected not. Over the past *few* generations, the Wayne children were not told about me — or of my relationship to the family — until it was decided that they had come of age. Your father expressly forbade me to... reveal myself to you until you were at least sixteen." 

And... Jason believes he can *feel* Bruce frown. He doesn't *need* to hear him *voice* the question. 

"*You* are my liege now, Bruce. You have been since that... terrible night. By rights, I should have come to you right there and then —" 

"Why didn't you." 

Jason closes his eyes — no. He opens then again, but keeps his head bent. "Because I was far too busy weeping, and screaming, and shearing off my hair, and walking into assorted hell-dimensions so that I could murder everything *moving* —" 

"What — no —" 

"*Yes*, Bruce. That is *another* way I cope — or 'cope' — with my grief," Jason says, and shows his teeth to the floor. "I've spent much of the last six years railing at fate and killing the hapless — and evil *enough* — rather than doing anything *useful*. I will not do that *anymore*." 

Bruce shudders — and moans. "I don't. Death is. I don't like. I miss my parents very much, Jason." 

Jason inclines his head. "I loved your mother with all of myself —" 

"But not my father?" 

Quick, quick boy... and Jason laughs softly. "Your father was my liege, and I was his vassal. Your father gave me his blood when I required it, and I gave him my protection when he required *that*. Your father... did not care for me, my age, my personality, my bond to your family, or for the fact that my very existence proved all *sorts* of things about the *multiverse* which he did not wish to believe —" 

"He was a very open-minded man!" 

"Oh, yes. You'll get no argument from me on *that* score, Bruce," Jason says, and laughs again. "Compared to his peers — and the rest of his family — your father was a paragon of grace, learning, wisdom, and the very *best* aspects of modernity. However... I am in the *somewhat* unique position of being able to say that, in some ways, the old ways will *always* hold sway over the new." 

"I. I believe I wish to see your eyes again, Jason." 

"You may. But I require you to take the sword, first." 

"*Oh*. I — but — I don't know what to *say*." 

Jason smiles. "All is well, dear one. The magic between us is already... hmm... *set*. It would take an *exceedingly* powerful being to break it, no matter *what* you said or did in this moment. And? That exceedingly powerful being would *first* have to contend with *me*. But..." And Jason shrugs lightly while continuing to balance the sword on his fingertips. "There are forms. I believe your mother taught you that, for some things, form can be *nearly* as important as function." 

Bruce swallows audibly. "Mother. Mother often enjoyed... rituals." 

"So she did." 

"I..." 

"Yes, Bruce — oh..." And the feel of Bruce wrapping his hand around the hilt of the sword — 

The feel of him *shuddering* as the blood in his veins *sings* to the blood in Jason's own — 

The feel/sound/*taste* of him moaning, moaning so *deeply* — 

"Jason — oh, *Jason* —" 

Jason moans, as well, and *gulps* air as he looks up, as he smiles into Bruce's *steely* blue eyes — a richer blue than Martha's, a *hotter* blue than Thomas's —

And Jason remembers kneeling to Hezekiah's daughter Maisie, gripping her hips as she gripped the sword, holding her *up* as the waves of power slammed through them both, as the *grief* for Hezekiah's painful, sickening, *early* *death* slammed through them both —

Slammed them to the floor until Jason could serve in only *one* way — 

("Aye, do it fast, do it *fast*!" 

"Maisie —" 

"I know you cannot give me a babe! Nothing else *matters*!") 

And it didn't. 

It had only been thirty years later when he'd knelt to Nathaniel... but, by then, he'd knelt to Nathaniel in many, many other ways. 

And then there'd been Anne, Howard, Nicholas — 

Marius and his twin sister Marie-Helene — 

"I feel — Jason, I feel — I *see*!" And Bruce's beautiful eyes are wide, full, *frightened* — even as the sword — the *power* between them — guides him to touch Jason's shoulders with the flat of the blade — 

To touch the crown of Jason's *head* — 

"Jason — Jason, *please*!" And Bruce's voice is so *deep* — 

"Shh," Jason says, even though he wants to do nothing of the kind, even though he wants that voice to be even deeper, louder — 

To thrum in his *chest* — 

He represses a growl and stands, forcing himself not to *shake* for the feel of Bruce's emotions, for the way the sword and his youth and the bond and this *moment* are making them nearly as clear and true and *available* as they would be — "There's only one more thing, dear one." And Jason cups Bruce's shoulders and squeezes them, looking down the bare few inches — 

Bruce *must* be at least five feet, four inches tall *already*, and he could very well be *taller* —

"Are you listening, dear one?" 

And Bruce is shivering, blinking, gripping the hilt of the sword as if it's the sac of the man who did something untoward to his baby *sister* — 

Jason will teach him *better* — "Come back to me now..." 

"Jason. I. I see so much —" 

"I will show you *everything*, Bruce — but we will do it on a somewhat *gentler* schedule," Jason says, and cups Bruce's face — is he already *shaving*? "Come back to me." 

Bruce *pants*, eyes *rolling* — 

He grips the sword-hilt even *more* convulsively — 

And the prickle of distinctly *dark* malevolence rises like the scent of dry stone and *ancient* dust. It — 

Well, then. It *was* only a matter of time before Bruce's little *visitor* would make its move. And now... 

Now is as good a time as any to *begin* the work of serving his liege. 

Jason leans in and kisses Bruce's forehead lightly — 

Bruce gasps and jerks and *focuses*, flinching just a little for Jason's corruption — 

"Be easy, dear one. I'm afraid I must frighten you a *little* more." 

"I — I don't — why did you —" 

"Shh," Jason says, stepping *back* and armoring himself — save for the gauntlets — in the brightest, hottest, and *third*-most-cruel mail he owns. And then he reaches for the sword. 

Bruce winces as he looks at him. "What —" 

"I will answer all of your questions soon. For now, you must give me the sword."

Bruce blinks and swallows and reaches — 

"No. Simply release the hilt. It will *come* to me — and *protect* you from the touch of my mail." 

"Will it —" Bruce frowns, releases the sword — it comes to Jason's right hand immediately, just as it should — and then he steps back. "I will wait to ask my questions." 

Jason smiles and winks. "Excellent," he says, and considers... no, he'll at least *guide* his liege through this. "The bare bones of the situation are these." And Jason makes a pass over the sword with his left hand until it is an entirely un-cursed knife, with which he slices the tip of his left ring finger. He does not allow the blood to flow. "You are possessed by a minor demon." 

"What —" 

"No questions, *yet*, dear one," Jason says, and returns the blade to sword-form, sheathing it. "I do not know *when* you became possessed by the demon — not *precisely* — but you have *not* been talking to — and arguing with — *yourself* for all this time. Nor have you been *begging* yourself for *mercy* when the pain and darkness within you has grown *great*." 

Bruce flinches — 

And Jason bares his teeth in self-loathing for the past six years of *lassitude* — he will make amends. "I was not certain that you were possessed. Not until today. To be blunt? Nathaniel Wayne — the grandson of Hezekiah, and my third Wayne liege — *vastly* angered a spirit-mage, who retaliated by cursing tricky Nate and every last *one* of his descendants to madness."

"N-*no* —" 

"*Yes*, dear one. And *wait*." 

"Please —" 

"I'm afraid not, Bruce," Jason says, and smiles ruefully. "As time passes, as you *grow*, you *will* become more and more... different, psychologically. There is nothing to be done about that. However, as you have seen, this need not keep you from living a worthwhile and satisfying existence." 

Bruce's eyes are so very *wide* — 

Jason wants to touch his *face* again — but there are things which must be done *first*. "Bruce..." He shakes his head and sighs. "I have been working to break the curse from the beginning. I punished the witch who cursed your line *severely* when the appropriate time came, and I will never *stop* working to break the curse — even if it takes me *another* three centuries. Even if it takes me another *ten*." 

"Jason —" 

"*But*. That is *not* the most important thing in *this* moment," Jason says, and raises an eyebrow. 

And there is fear in Bruce's eyes again, *true* fear — 

It's in his *scent* — 

In the sweat gathering at his *temples* — 

And Jason thinks of the other Blood's Bruce *refusing* to be exorcised and narrows his eyes. "I will not tell you there is nothing to fear, dear one — I will *never* lie to you — but —" 

"Don't — don't take it from me!" 

Jason rears back — 

Bruce *steps* back — 

*Twice* — 

"Don't — I'll — it's not *doing* anything to me!" 

Jason growls. "You *must* not lie to *me*, Bruce." 

Bruce *jerks*, shaking his head seemingly helplessly — 

Jason steps toward him — 

"Please don't!" 

And Jason knows that it's only a matter of time before Alfred Pennyworth feels the need to examine the strange noises coming from upstairs — 

And he knows that Bruce is more frightened in this moment than he has been in *any* of the moments when Jason has scryed him, when he has reached to *look* — 

But mostly — "It's speaking to you right now." 

Bruce shudders and *freezes* — and only belatedly begins to shake his head. 

"It's speaking to you..." Jason tilts his head to the side and nods thoughtfully. "Has it made you promises, Bruce?" 

Bruce doesn't speak, and his expression is both hunted and *haunted*. 

"Has it promised you power — no. *You* would wish none of that, whether or not you could ever be convinced that you *needed* it. It is... you are afraid of losing a *friend*, yes?" 

Bruce backs himself against the *door* — 

And Jason shakes his head and flips the sword until it is aimed *squarely* at Bruce's mouth. "Dear one, we *must* discuss strategy at some point *soon*... but. Answer my question now. Please." 

"I..." Bruce turns away, flushing dark and balling his large, puppyish hands into — lovely — fists. 

That's far more *promising*, but — 

But it takes only a moment to enclose the vast majority of the room in a *gently*-cursed — and soundproofed — shield, to further close the distance between them, to shift his left hand until his fingers end in good, *sharp* claws, and slash the back of Bruce's right hand open — 

Bruce *gasps* again — 

"My apologies, but I have already wasted far, far too much time," Jason says, and summons the blood — 

The blood that is his by *right* — 

The blood he will not allow himself to taste with his *tongue*, as it was *not* given to him *freely*. 

He absorbs it into his skin, instead, while Bruce gazes at him with a truly terrible blend of fear, confusion, and mounting betrayal — 

And then he slips deep into Bruce's mind. _You will answer all of my questions._

Bruce stiffens and *flinches* — 

_You are safe, dear one. I will never *injure* you, and I will never, ever *lie*. But you *will* answer all of my questions — and you will *help* me *keep* you safe._ And Jason exerts pressure just *there* — 

And Bruce slumps against the door, moaning again as every *part* of him relaxes — no. There is *one* part of his soul which is agitated and *straining*, fighting to make the rest of *Bruce* fight — and that is only to be expected. 

There is a certain familiar edge to it — not *altogether* different than what Jason would feel if Bruce had any of the — generally minor — spirit-magery of his ancestors. However, *this* 'edge' is actively malevolent. 

*This* 'edge' would do everything in its power to drive Bruce to *murder* Jason if it *could*. 

This... well. 

Jason sucks his teeth, slips his wounded finger into Bruce's mouth — 

Bruce moans *again* — 

Jason promises himself the chance to hear that sound or something *very* similar in better times, and then he allows his finger to actually bleed. It will not take much — 

A *few* drops *only* — there. 

Bruce begins to thrash, even as the pressure Jason is exerting forces him to swallow. 

Jason steps back and pulls on the mail gauntlets — 

Bruce groans like a dying *animal* — 

And Jason doesn't think of what sounds Thomas might have made as he bled out — 

And he doesn't think of the *waste* of Martha's life on the *ground* — 

And he *does* raise his sword as he pushes more of his power — his *self* — into the blood Bruce had ingested. 

There is *no* darkling creature which can stand that sort of — 

The scream is hideous, painfully loud, and *deeply* impressive as the demon *vomits* itself out of Bruce's eyes, ears, and nose to *launch* itself at Jason's face. 

As expected, it is a creature made up of absences: Of light, of hope, of cheer — 

Of generosity and love — 

Of *planning*, considering the fact that it had spent fuck only knows *how* long possessing the sole male heir of what may very well be the most powerful bloodline on the *planet* without doing more than feeding on grief and loneliness and *fear*. 

Jason can smell Bruce's sweat and *taste* his tears on the thing — 

And he knows that the only reason he *can't* sense the blood that the creature *must* have taken for itself is that it would have taken it too *utterly*. 

Jason snarls. No more. 

He dances with it a bit to make sure it has no *true* surprises other than its desperation-induced speed — 

And then he slashes it summarily in half with his cursed blade — 

And then he gathers the blood that flows into his sinuses from the creature's pained and *terrified* scream and *spits* on it. 

In it, truly — 

Twice — 

And then he watches it writhe and thrash helplessly while his blood and saliva burn and dissolve it — and while he considers whether or not it will be worth imprisoning and interrogating it. It would be *one* way to get to know his new liege... hm. 

Jason begins to pace around it while he rests his sword on his shoulder. 

"No! *No*!" And Bruce is *sluggish* as he moves — the pressure on his soul would have it no other *way* — but he's still moving, still dropping to his *knees* far too close to the creature — 

Jason *quickly* shields the creature's halves just in case it tries to get back *into* the boy — 

Who sobs. 

Once.

*Terribly*. 

"Oh, Bruce, no, it's all *right* —" But Jason can't say another word once Bruce looks at him with his eyes full of mute desperation and *horror*. It — 

Jason does not need to ask if he had looked like that in the alley. It's obvious enough to put something icy and *wet* low in Jason's belly, and — 

And. 

Jason inclines his head. "I cannot free this creature, Bruce. It has been *possessing* you, and hurting you —" 

"No —" 

"*Wait*," Jason says, and uses the blood they share — 

Bruce shudders and *groans* again, swaying on his knees and *gripping* at the floor — "You — you're *controlling* me." 

"Very slightly, and only so that you will listen to me, dear one. I will never make a decision for you. I will never force you to do something you do not *wish* —"

"Don't — don't *control* me!" And Bruce jerks his head up and stares at him angrily, steadily despite the pressure, *hotly* — 

And Jason remembers the sting of Martha's small palm against his cheek the first and *only* time he *vaguely* suggested hiding her terrible memories of her father's *relentless* abuse from her — 

Remembers the gimlet *flash* of her grey-blue eyes every time he'd denied her something she didn't just want, but believed she *should* have — 

Remembers Chanel no. 22 and salty sweat and *saltier* come that just got sweeter and lighter every time he made her come, every time he shoved his tongue deep, every time he *shifted* so he could make it longer, shove it *deeper* — 

And sometimes she would scream *laughter* while she came — 

And sometimes she would do that *specifically* so that he would flip her over on her soft little belly and *flog* her, harder and harder and — 

And Bruce is still staring at him, *glaring* even as he hunches over the *upper* half of the demon that had been *possessing* him — 

Jason shudders and — does *not* show his teeth. What he *does* do is gesture *somewhat* theatrically with his free hand — and raise an eyebrow. 

Bruce *narrows* his eyes for a moment before very obviously searching within himself — and then he nods once and stands. "Thank you," he says, with a low, grating, *chill* formality — 

Jason knows that it would be an absolutely horrible idea to ask the boy to do his level best not to sound like Thomas in this moment. He inclines his head, instead. "I apologize for angering you, Bruce. I have been... away from the young for quite some time." 

Bruce raises *his* eyebrow. "Are you blaming my youth for my reluctance to allow you to further injure — or *murder* — a living being?" 

Jason doesn't show his *teeth* — but. "To be *quite* frank? Yes. The creature I have bound at our feet is a *demon* —" 

"Mother informed me that you have a demon living *within* you, Jason," Bruce says, and raises his eyebrow *higher*. 

Oh... of course she did. Probably *when* Bruce was four. Or *younger*. Jason laughs briefly and helplessly. "*Not* by choice, dear one. *Despite* the fact that Etrigan — and that is the *name* of the demon who shares my soul — *also* shares, for the most part, my morality and *general* dedication to justice, freedom, and the *light*. None of which could be said for the *creature* at our *feet*." 

When Bruce looks stubborn — honestly, openly *stubborn* — there is nothing of Thomas to him whatsoever. 

Thomas had rigidity. Steadfastness. *Constancy*. 

Martha... 

"You're reminding me of your mother," Jason says, and smiles ruefully — there. 

Bruce blinks, and the terrifically *mulish* cast to his features becomes something rather softer, more open, more *curious*. 

And Jason inclines his head again. "When she was passionate about something — *anything* — it often took far more than simply *logic* to *move* her." 

Bruce shivers and frowns. "It... is important to study all angles of a given situation, and then allow logic, fairness, and honesty to —" 

"*Guide* you, yes. I am aware of that *aphorism* of your father's," Jason says, and smiles again. 

Bruce raises an eyebrow again. "You don't agree? It would serve your interests —" 

"What would serve my *interests* — far more than *anything* else — is to bring you happiness that nonetheless leaves you *entirely* secure," Jason says, and allows himself to admit *fully* to the truth of that statement. To take it in and *make* it his own — no. 

It is *already* his own, and it can be nothing else. 

"You are my liege, Bruce. That will always be so." 

Bruce straightens himself *utterly* unnecessarily. "I would like — to know more about the meaning of your service — or. I believe that there are many meanings to it." 

Oh... "There are," Jason says, and studies the *earnestness* in Bruce's eyes. The — 

But could it be a different *sort* of steadfastness? A kind that could *include* him?

("He can make you happy.") 

Jason banishes the memory of the other Blood and touches his tongue to the backs of his teeth. "There is nothing I will not tell you, Bruce. You need only ask — no. While your questions will be helpful — there is much *I* know which it would simply never occur to me that you would *not* — I will never *force* you to *interrogate* me." 

Bruce nods once. "Thank you for that, Jason." 

"You're welcome. *Please* allow me to remove this *parasite*." 

Bruce frowns again, but this time there is less stubbornness than a return of bleakness and fear. It... is too much. And the creature at their feet can do nothing to free *itself* from Jason's shield. 

Jason drops his mail and sheathes his sword once more before moving to stand over Bruce again. He cups Bruce's face and *gently* tilts it up so that they can meet each other's gaze. "Dear one... do you know why I came to you *today*?" 

Bruce swallows. "Because you... became certain that I was possessed?" 

"That *is* a part of it... but. I would not have *become* certain had I not been visited by a Jason Blood from another universe —" 

Bruce blinks *rapidly* — 

And Jason laughs softly. "The *multiverse* is a wide and wild and *varied* place, dear one. I'll answer *those* questions, too —" 

"When?" 

Jason smiles and strokes Bruce's beautifully aristocratic cheekbones. "Whenever — though I would *like* the opportunity —" 

"To... answer my questions in order," Bruce says, and swallows, and frowns. "I believe I am... stalling." 

"Yes...?" 

"I know you wish to murder the Bat." 

"Is that what it called itself, dear one?"

Bruce looks down — *without* forcing Jason to move his hands by even an *inch*. "It's what. It's how it looked. To my eyes. When I was seven." 

"Do you *like* —" 

"No," Bruce says, quick and curt and *shamed*, at once. "I don't like bats."

"Bruce —" 

"This — it told me it wouldn't leave me," Bruce says, and he doesn't look up. "It told me it would *never* leave me — unlike everyone else. And. It didn't." And the silence is bald and *full*. 

Populated, even. "Until I made it leave you." 

"Yes." Bruce's voice is nearly *gruff*. 

Jason doesn't sigh. "I had to do just that," he says, as gently as he can —

"Don't — don't." 

"What would you have me *not* do, dear one?" And Jason strokes Bruce's cheekbones with his thumbs again. 

Silence. 

*Deep* silence — 

*Populated* silence — 

"You are my liege, Bruce. I have been numbered among the intuitive at various points in my lifetime, but *usually* this does not happen until I have had more time to come to *know* —" 

"Where. Where did you go. Why haven't I seen you since I was four." And Bruce looks up and *searches* him, deeply and — hotly again. 

Jason nods. There is no part of him which cannot *feel* the importance of that question. "Not long *after* your fourth birthday, you came running into your mother's *bedroom* while I was there. There was nothing untoward occurring at that *moment* — there was nothing even a little bit *ambiguous* occurring — but *neither* I nor your mother had sensed you coming until you were already there. Your mother and I discussed the matter after you left us again... and she decided that she did *not* want you to know more than she *wished* you to know about our relationship until such time as she decided that you were old enough to —" 

"What. What." Bruce swallows and blinks rapidly. 

"It's all right —" 

"No. No. You — don't —" 

"Bruce —" 

"I don't. Believe." And Bruce inhales sharply — and immediately exhales with a full-body shudder. He shudders *again* on his next inhale, and holds the breath — 

And then he keeps shuddering as he stares. 

And stares. 

Jason smiles ruefully. "Thomas knew from the beginning."

"That. Isn't enough." 

"No...? Why not?" 

Bruce blinks again. And again — and then he steps back, straightening his staid, unflattering little school uniform unnecessarily — 

Reaching up to stroke his own face where Jason had touched him — 

To *rub* at his own face — 

"Bruce..." 

"I. I don't. Understand." 

Jason tilts his head to the side. "I don't believe that is the truth," he says, and folds his hands in front of himself to keep from clenching them into fists — 

To keep from reaching out — 

To keep from *urging* —"Bruce..." 

Bruce takes a hitching breath and smooths his uniform down over his body, looking from left to right before staring down at — 

Jason doesn't wish to name the creature at their feet.

Bruce swallows several times as he stares down at the creature, and there is some question as to whether *he* is capable of perceiving the slow but *steady* dissolution of the *partially* corporeal form it had taken to attack Jason — 

Would he be *more* horrified if he could see it? 

More hurt? 

More *despairing*? Oh, Jason's doing a *bang*-up job of making his liege happy — and, in his mind, a fifteen-year-old Marius is beating at Jason's face and chest with hard, desperate fists as Marie-Helene's body proceeds to lie on their bed, emptied of life and light and *soul* and *rapidly* decomposing.

Jason had been too late.

Marius... had lived precisely long enough after that to marry and impregnate an appropriately intelligent and accomplished woman for the sake of the line. 

And then he had bidden Jason farewell. He — 

Jason doesn't *clutch* his hands together and he doesn't squeeze his eyes shut. He *focuses* — 

And finds Bruce standing between the large, unwieldy armoires that Jason recognizes from Thomas's suite — the *master* suite — and studying the locket as if it has clues he had simply not been wise enough to *discern* before. It — 

"May I come to you, Bruce?" 

Bruce swallows again and *shakes* — and three tears fall to the floor. "Father told me that he fell in love with Mother when he was twenty-one and she was sixteen." 

"He did not confide in me about that... but it was quite clear that he had gained an interest in *something* beyond his studies at that time." 

"Alfred told me that those were the ages — that they were those ages in these photographs," Bruce says, and lifts the locket weakly and awkwardly between them, as if it weighs twenty stone and is dripping wet, besides. 

Jason smiles ruefully. "I cannot be certain — I have become remarkably terrible at estimating the precise ages of *most* humans over the years, and I am not familiar with those two *particular* photographs — but Thomas was certainly wearing those spectacles in his early twenties." 

"And. Mother?" 

"I did not know her in her teens —" 

"When. Did you." 

Jason takes a deep breath — but he will answer *every* question, and count himself lucky to have a liege who *wishes to know*. "An entirely different Jason Blood came to me in the spring of nineteen-fifty-three. We discussed our troubles with your father — and several of your other forebears. We discussed several of the supernatural problems we had encountered — and could thus warn one another about. And... we discussed your mother." 

Bruce looks at him. Only... looks. 

And Jason inclines his head again. "He told me that she was beautiful, and brilliant, and witty, and strong, and imaginative, and open, and open to the *infinite*. He told me that her father and your father's father would almost certainly arrange her marriage *to* your father before the decade was out. He told me... that not every Martha Kane — or even every Martha Kane *Wayne* — was averse to the love of Jason Bloods." 

Bruce's expression is, perhaps, no more wounded than it should be. 

"He showed me... this," Jason says, and lifts his hands between them, forming a fire roughly the size of a substantial wooden trencher with Martha at its heart. 

"*Oh* —" 

"Do you see her dancing, dear one?" 

"Yes — *yes*. There was never any film — Father didn't *take* —" And Bruce cuts himself off and moves closer, reaching out — 

"Do *not* touch. The blood flowing between us protects you from a fair portion of the *incidental* harm I could cause you, *but*." 

Bruce shudders and swallows and nods — 

And Jason focuses his power, focuses his *memory* — 

And they are both watching Martha dancing to something *shamelessly* raunchy at the Cottonmouth Club on a sweltering Tuesday night in nineteen-fifty-two. She is twenty-two years old; her shoes cost more than the vast majority of the club's other patrons' entire ensembles *combined*; her equally-expensive dress is clinging to her small, beautiful, *perfect* body in *many* places with sweat; her hair is loose, wild, and hanging halfway down her back —

"*That* Cottonmouth Club was actually the *fifth* of its name in Gotham. The first four had been either shut down or *burnt* down in one terrifically *shady* incident or another..." 

Bruce nods, fixated on the sight of his mother. 

"Your mother, by her own report, was *entirely* present for the spectacularly-exciting ends of *both* the third and fourth Cottonmouths..." 

There's some question as to whether Bruce is even listening at this point — no, Jason can *feel* his attention, his need for *everything* of his mother. He will provide. 

"A moment," Jason says, and changes the view to Martha running barefoot and giggling and drunk and *aroused* through the Libertyville alleys as the universally corrupt, violent, and *frustrated* policemen hunted down every club patron they could find after the *fourth* Cottonmouth Club had come to its fabulously ignoble end. "She told the tale of that night with great relish — and *detail*." 

"Oh — *oh* — but —" 

And then he gives Bruce Martha's dancing again; Martha's wide, slow, gin-fueled smiles as she wraps her arms around the neck of a tall, handsome, dark-skinned man — Emory James Ellison — Jason had, eventually, learned a great, great deal about... via *mostly* foul means, he will admit.

Including every *last* detail about how he went about making love — and how he went about making love to Martha. 

Beautiful, beautiful *Martha* — 

And she is kissing Ellison — 

"She — Mother — oh. I don't think...." 

"Yes, Bruce...?" 

Bruce swallows and stares into the fire, thoughtful and *focused* at once. 

"Please. Ask." 

Bruce frowns — and does not look *away* from the fire before saying: "Did Mother kiss Father that way?" 

Jason *blinks* — "I..." 

Bruce frowns more deeply. "I'm not certain that that was the question I wished to ask." 

Well. "No...?" 

"It's only... I never saw Mother kiss Father that way." 

*What* way — Jason checks; and within the memory, Martha is doing an *excellent* job of clawing chaos into the conk Mr. Ellison had given his hair that night. Going by what *Jason* remembers of the harshness of the chemicals required to produce that degree of straightening in the hair of those of *mostly* African descent, the man would've been in some degree of *pain*...

But he was *undoubtedly* distracted by the feel of Martha's slim, hot, *damp* body pressed to his own; Martha's mouth *crushed* to his own; Martha continuing to move in *perfect* rhythm to the sleazily suggestive trombone and upright bass. 

It doesn't take long before Mr. Ellison begins attempting to walk them both somewhere rather more private than the center of a crowded dance floor... and Jason remembers cursing the *other* Jason Blood *royally* for not collecting far, far more surveillance that evening than he had. It — 

("*Do* forgive me, Mr. Blood —" 

"Why *should* I?" 

"One, we all *love* a good tease —" 

"*Sometimes* —" 

"And *two*...?"

"*What*?") 

And the other Blood had laughed before grinning wetly, broadly, *triumphantly* — 

("*My* Martha doesn't give a rat's flea-bitten *arse* who I fuck and who I *watch* fuck... so long as I keep *her* happy — and keep my dirty little paws off the *other* Marthas of the multiverse.") 

And Jason had opened and closed his mouth like a *fish* — 

The other Blood had laughed *more* — and tipped his jaunty little fedora. 

("Keep it in mind, yes...? At least while she's good and *single*.")

And then the other Blood had taken his leave — 

And Jason had taken up stalking... again. He hadn't thought about the fact that it would almost certainly bring him back in *range* of Thomas on a regular basis — 

In truth, he had done everything in his *power* to avoid thinking of that, and — 

And Bruce is staring into the fire — 

At Jason's memory of *himself* not especially long after the other Jason had left, in the moments after he had walked *altogether* blithely into the Kane high-rise on the east side of Grant Park — 

Enchanting servants *bluntly* to pay not a single *jot* of attention to him as he went — 

Flaring his nostrils and *hunting*, because the scents of her — 

*Martha* — 

The scents of her were *everywhere*, and Jason remembers how terribly and *annoyingly* that *failed* to be true in Wayne Manor even after she'd lived there for five *years* — 

"I remember that painting," Bruce says, and it seems an *utter* non sequitur — but. 

"Do you remember your mother's scents?" 

Bruce blinks and looks to *him*. "Of course." 

Jason inclines his head and breathes. He had... needed to know that. "Which painting?" 

But Bruce only studies him for a long moment, silent and *deep* within himself. 

"Bruce...?" 

Bruce looks within the fire once more, where Jason has paused the memory of himself staring *hungrily* at Martha's bedroom door.

Jason remembers the scent of Chanel no. 22; and the scents of stale gin and at least a dozen brands of cigarettes.

She had not showered before going to bed — passing *out* — the night before, and when she comes to the door to answer his knock — 

When he tastes the hints of her sleepy *sweat* for the very first time — 

"Jason... you loved Mother." 

Jason tears himself away from his memories — "With all of myself, dear one. From — very nearly — the first moments of our acquaintance." 

Bruce looks to the fire again and *touches* his tongue to his upper lip, though less with a sense of anticipation than with a sense that he could be chastised for licking his lips more *thoroughly*. 

Jason doesn't touch them the way he would touch Martha's —

Jason doesn't touch them. 

"Bruce..." 

Bruce doesn't look up. 

"I'll tell you everything you wish to know about her —" 

Bruce inhales sharply — and looks up. "When did she fall in love with Father?"

Oh... dear. 

"She didn't tell me... I asked her that question... four times." 

Fuck. 

"She deflected me..." Bruce frowns and looks away — into the distant reaches of his own memories, perhaps. "She was quite good at deflecting me." 

"She was one of the finest conversationalists —" 

"Will you deflect me, as well, Jason?" And Bruce focuses on him again, eyes wide and solemn and — brave. 

Some part of him knows the truth. 

Other parts of him almost certainly *believe* they know that Jason will temporize in ways which will only make the truth more obvious and *painful* — 

Or is this merely what Jason is telling himself in order to avoid answering the questions?

Answering the questions *promptly*?

Or is he, perhaps, doing his level best to rush *headlong* into *justifying* his behaviour to a *child* — 

Jason pulls the fire into himself, holds up two fingers to Bruce to ask him to wait, and pinches the bridge of his nose with his other hand. He will — 

No. He has promised not to lie to Bruce, *and* he has promised to answer his questions. More to the point, Bruce is his *liege*, and — 

And he has never broken promises to his lieges, and he will not *begin* to do so with *this* one. So. 

He drops his hands, folds them together in front of him in lieu of *reaching* for the boy again — "Before I answer your question — and no, I will *not* deflect you, no matter *how* much I am tempted to *try* to do so — I must ask *you* a question." 

Bruce swallows and nods once. 

"Will you speak to me of the hurts that you have suffered? Will you allow me to do everything in my power to *ease* them?" 

Bruce blinks. "I... was not expecting that question." 

Jason smiles ruefully. "Answer it anyway, please." 

"I'm not sure... would it be appropriate?" 

Jason promises himself a lengthy, detailed fantasy of walking into whatever afterlife Thomas has found himself in and slapping him *vigorously* for deciding to teach his child the concept of 'correctness'. But — "It would be *entirely* appropriate, dear one. I am your vassal —" 

Bruce opens his mouth —

"A vassal does *not* simply remove inconveniences for his liege's comfort and avert his eyes from his liege's foibles when it wouldn't be *proper* to view them. A vassal stands at his liege's right *hand* — when his liege has no one else to stand there. A vassal gives his liege his *strength* — physical, intellectual, *and* emotional. A vassal gives his liege everything he *is* at every *moment*, and he does so with joy and love and *pride*." And Jason raises his eyebrow. 

Bruce stares at him.

Jason raises his eyebrow *higher* —

Bruce *frowns*. 

"Bruce —" 

"I... do not believe I am worthy of that," Bruce says, open and clear and solemn and — noble.

Jason does nothing to still the pound of his *heart* — and he smiles. "A vassal will *also* do his *level* best to assist his liege in discovering the highest heights of his potential, dear one." 

"And... besting them?" 

"Oh, yes." 

For a long moment, Bruce only stares at him in silence, but — 

His eyes slowly widen, and the emotions within them shift to something — 

There is so much *hope* — 

And Jason *also* does nothing to repress a *shiver*. He gives up on reticence and moves close to Bruce, instead, cupping his face again — 

And watching him fail to shiver, or flinch, or draw *back* — oh.

Of course he had already taken Bruce's blood. 

Of course he had already *given* Bruce *his* blood.

Of course the sneaking, hungry, lonely, *desperate* parts of him had *used* the fact that Bruce was possessed — and the creature at their feet is dissolving ever *faster* as Jason's cursed blood works on *it* — 

He has corrupted Bruce *already*, and — 

"Jason? Is there something the matter?" 

Because Bruce is, of course, *more* than wise enough to *know* there's a problem when he sees a smile *curdle* on a man's face — 

And there have been so very, very many times when Jason has felt like so very, *very* much less than *anything* that could be termed a man —

But he does not close his eyes and he does *not* let go. Not... yet. "We may have to take you to see Dr. Fate, dear one."

"I — of the *Justice* Society?" 

Jason inclines his head. "I work with them from time to time. When they need a bit more *magical* firepower than what Dr. Fate and Zatara can provide. He can, among other things, remove the taint on your soul which the ingestion of my blood has given you." 

Bruce frowns. "But... you implied that we *had* to share blood, Jason." 

"I need *your* blood on a semi-regular basis. You do *not* need my own," Jason says, and smiles ruefully. "Not now that I have removed the creature that was squatting in your soul." 

Bruce frowns more deeply. "Your blood... I remember that as soon as I *tasted* it — and it didn't seem to taste very similar to any of the other blood I've tasted in the past —" 

"No...?" Oh — and it would be a *good* idea to fight back his *eagerness* for that — 

"No, Jason. Your blood is... I'm not sure I can describe it," Bruce says, and frowns *thoughtfully*. "It seemed almost... intoxicating." 

And he will fight it *back* — "That isn't entirely abnormal, considering your *decided* humanity and my equally decided lack of same," Jason says, and pulls on another smile — 

A *better* smile — 

But Bruce frowns at it *just* as he should, and — 

And — 

Bruce is, Jason must remember, *both* his liege and Martha's son. "You're an intuitive young man." 

"I believe a deceptive facial expression should still be counted as a lie, Jason." 

Jason swallows and inclines his head. "As you say —" 

"Why do you want to hide your true emotions from me?" 

"Because they are *problematic*, dear one." 

Bruce's expression gains *stubbornness* again, and he raises his chin. "We have been discussing grief, Jason, and not — not in the abstract. I have been told by many people that any number of dark, negative, and even disturbing emotions are only to be expected at such times as those." 

Jason... lets his expression quirk. "And you believed them?" 

Bruce blinks. "Yes. Their opinions matched what I read in several studies. Additionally, many of the people who expressed those opinions were people whose learning and wisdom I already respected." 

"Like your father before his death...?" 

"Yes, Jason. Did you disagree with him about *this*, too?" 

Jason pulls on an expression of... loftiness — 

"Oh — I don't think that's a real expression —" 

"It truly is. I'm absolutely holding my facial muscles in just this way —" 

"Jason — that. That was a very silly — hm. Are you trying to get me to laugh?" 

Jason slowly — slowly — causes his eyes to cross. 

Bruce blinks twice — three times. And then he hums. "That was quite ridiculous." 

Jason inclines his head — and *then* uncrosses his eyes. "Thank you *very* much." 

"I —" 

Jason raises two fingers. 

"All right; I will wait." 

"Thank you, dear one. You're absolutely right — grief *does* breed positively *horrible* emotions. And actions. And *reactions*. And reactions *to* your reactions. There is absolutely *no* way around it — one must pass through it as best one can —" 

"With the help of one's loved ones," Bruce says. Pointedly. 

Jason smiles wryly and strokes down to Bruce's already-strong shoulders, squeezing firmly. "I've never given up hope for the possibility of one marvelously wise individual or another teaching me that lesson." 

Bruce nods once. And then raises an eyebrow. 

"Hmm...? Oh — dear. I did not actually *intend* to change the subject either of the times I... well. Point the first," Jason says, and squeezes again. "It was not grief which blackened my mood a moment ago." 

"No?" 

"No, dear one. It was the fact that I had corrupted your soul without a *thought* — and that I had begun taking advantage of that corruption in ways I have most assuredly *not* done with any member of your family for... quite some time." And Jason smiles ruefully. 

Bruce frowns again. "I don't understand." 

Jason takes a deep breath, tasting Bruce's confusion and lingering tears, his curiosity and determination, his *interest* —

And something very *much* like arousal. It's not *precisely* shocking to find it in an adolescent boy, but it *is* — no.

Jason won't *let* it be distracting. "This," he says, and leans in to kiss Bruce's forehead again — 

"Oh — that. That doesn't feel the same... as it did before." 

Jason pulls back and raises an eyebrow. 

Bruce frowns. "Before it was... distressing. It was — am I less distressed because I know you better now, Jason? I've always assumed that process would take a much longer time." 

Jason laughs softly. "It *does*... generally. And I believe you're still somewhat *emotionally* distressed by the fact that I've kissed you...?" 

"No." 

Jason raises an eyebrow. "No...? It seems perfectly normal?" 

"Why shouldn't it?" 

The fact that Jason is now thinking of *filleting* Alfred Pennyworth says more, he must admit, about Jason *himself* than it does about Pennyworth. Still — "I am curious, dear one —"

Bruce frowns. "You've already spoken of your — your service to me as being something which encompasses a great deal of *ground*, Jason. Including explicitly emotional care." 

"Very true —" 

"It is abundantly clear to me that you have felt that I've needed emotional care in the moments when you have kissed me." 

"Also true, but —" 

"I like. It was. Mother would kiss me often."

Jason — does *not* repress his shiver. "Yes, she would," he says, and cups Bruce's face again. "Do you..." No, he can *use* what the other Blood had told him today. "Your valet. Mr. Pennyworth." 

"Yes, Jason?" 

"He is... quite reserved?" 

Bruce nods once. "He has explained to me that that which is appropriate between a child and his parents is not always appropriate between the young master and his valet. Even when the valet is raising the young master in question." 

Jason narrows his eyes *slightly* — 

"Jason...?" 

"The other Jason Blood who visited me today..." Jason smiles ruefully. "It was one of the ways he convinced me to come to you, dear one. He spoke of how very little in the way of emotional *ease* his own Bruce had received while he was growing up." 

Bruce swallows and *stiffens* — 

"It's all right, dear one. I know Mr. Pennyworth has been very kind to you." And that trying to separate you from him *unsubtly* would be a *vast* mistake...

"Yes. Yes, and. He. He takes care of me, and our home, and he — teaches me —" 

"I would like to teach you, as well." 

"Oh. Yes?" 

Jason smiles... somewhat sharply. "I would like to teach you about your family, and history, and Gotham, and the future." 

"I —" 

"The future is far, far less unclear than it could be when one has the ability to converse with those who walk the multiverse, dear one. And to walk the multiverse oneself, of course." 

And Bruce's eyes are wide again, and — excited. 

Jason lets his smile grow wider. "I would like to teach you *about* the multiverse, dear one. I would like to show you other parts of it. I would like to make you ready *for* it. Because...?" And Jason raises an eyebrow. 

The scent — and taste, and *look* — of Bruce's confusion grows for a long moment... but then the moment passes, and Bruce stands straight again before giving him a *hard* look. 

"Yes, dear one...?" 

"The Bat... spoke of the future, as well." 

Jason shows his *teeth*. "Perhaps it spoke of leading you to the future? Of helping you achieve your goals?" 

"It *has* been helping me —" 

"It *has* been *feeding* on you, dear one... but." Jason flares his nostrils and pulls back — slightly — and makes a point of walking around and around Bruce, looking him over slowly and *thoroughly* — 

"'But'?" 

"You're a strong boy. Tall, well-made, graceful..." 

"I — thank you —" 

Jason throws a punch designed to *miss* — 

Bruce catches his wrist *almost* perfectly — 

But is, predictably, utterly unprepared for the claw aimed at his left eye. 

He *gasps* — 

"I'll teach you this, too, dear one..." 

"I — I..." 

Jason laughs and twists his wrist free, shifting his other hand back to its entirely human-*looking* shape. "Do you want to be like — nearly — *every* other Bruce in the multiverse...?" 

Bruce blinks. "Jason?" 

"Do you want to be a vigilante, Bruce? A hero who brings justice to those who need it most?" 

"To — to those who wouldn't *have* it if —" And Bruce cuts himself off and blushes as if he's being *choked* — 

And Jason *cannot* repress a growl. "You'll *have* it, Bruce." 

Bruce gasps again and *starts* to shake his head — 

"*No*," Jason says, and *grips* Bruce's shoulders, moving far too close and *pinning* the boy with his eyes — 

The *beautiful* boy — 

And Jason shivers and *grins*. "You are my *liege*, Bruce. I will give you *everything* —" 

"You — you *can't* give me —" 

"Do you think I've spent the past thousand years sitting on my arse eating bon-bons and *whingeing* about the *weather*?" Jason barks a laugh. "I can teach you *much* about how to *acquit* yourself on the many, many different fields of battle this world — and *many* others — will throw at you, dear one. And I can *introduce* you to all *sorts* of other people who can teach you even *more*." 

"Oh. *Oh*. *Please*!" 

"*Yes*. All of it is *yours* —" 

"*When*?" 

"*Now*, dear one. And *every* day — and *night* — when I can steal some fraction of your *time*. But we still have much to *discuss* —" 

"Oh, I — tell me —" *Bruce* growls, obviously impatient as he shakes his head. "What *danger* do I face with your — your *corruption* in my soul, Jason?" 

"A blunt and *clear* question — *very* good," Jason says, pulling back to count on his fingers. "One, light-aligned mages — and magical creatures *of* the light, and yes, I *will* explain *all* of that to you with time — will find being in your presence difficult and suspicious. The extremists among them may even be moved to attack you, if you have *enough* of my corruption within you — though many, like Dr. Fate, will simply be moved to *cleanse* you. Two, dark-aligned mages — and magical creatures *of* the dark — will find themselves more attracted to you, and curious about you, and curious about what you can *do* for them. This can get *sticky*, though the fact that the corruption they will sense is *specifically* my *own* will keep things from getting *too* sticky.

"This is not a matter of good — or 'good' — and evil — or 'evil'. This is simply the nature of the beast as it refers to the magic that wends its way through the multiverse as a whole, and what it drives us to *do* — and do *to* our *fellows*. Do you understand?"

Bruce nods thoughtfully. "I believe so, yes. Taking your blood has made me... magically interesting?" 

Well... Jason laughs. "You already *were* that, dear one. You are a Wayne of the *Gotham* Waynes, blood of *Hezekiah* Wayne, a spirit-mage in his own right, and the things he did to *establish* your name and clan and *wealth* on these shores..." Jason laughs more. "I'll tell you *all* about it soon enough. Suffice it to say that *one* of the services I perform for your family — and *have* performed for much of the past few centuries — has been to keep the *interestingness* of your blood as much of a secret from the multiverse's magical population as *possible*." 

Bruce blinks — "That... is somewhat intimidating, Jason." 

"As it *should* be. We'll just try to keep your blood *in* your body around certain sorts of people and things, hmm...?" 

Bruce hums back. "As you say. Are there other dangers specific to the corruption?" 

Jason spreads his hands. "Because you are *not* a mage of *any* kind, my corruption in your body — in your *soul* — makes it nearly impossible for you to *perceive* it. Because I am your vassal — and would never harm you, and *could* never be turned against you by any save the most powerful of *gods* — this danger is more philosophical than not... but it *is* still a danger." 

"I don't —" But Bruce stops himself and nods slowly. "When I first saw you, I felt... threatened. For the first few moments, I thought it was because of the fact that you were wearing a very large sword and rifling through my possessions, but it rapidly became clear that there was..." He frowns again. "I don't know how to describe it." 

"You, perhaps, felt a distinctly *ominous* 'vibe'?" 

"What... is a 'vibe'? Mother used that word more than once, but she never quite explained it satisfactorily, Jason." 

Oh... Bruce. Jason smiles. "It is *slang*, dear one. Deeply *useful* slang, for all that it's rather a bit more modern than the slang I usually avail myself of. The 'vibe' of a place — or a person, or a thing, or what-have-you — is the something-or-other that one *feels* — rather than senses in some less *numinous* way — when one is in its presence." 

"That seems rather *vague*." 

"Does it?" 

"*Yes*, Jason. Mother described it in a very similar way —" 

"And it didn't help, all right, I see," Jason says, and nods, giving himself a moment to consider — "Ah. You have trained yourself to move quietly, yes?" 

Bruce frowns and nods. "I believe stealthiness will be quite important for my future." 

"Oh, yes. It will truly be a matter of life and death — at times. What this meant *today* is that, while I had prepared myself for your typical and altogether modern *galumphing* thirteen-year-old boy, all elbows and knees and puppyish hands and feet, I was instead faced with *you*." And Jason raises an eyebrow — 

And Bruce blushes and... shifts on the large feet in question. "I... I know I'm quite awkward —" 

Oh — "No, Bruce, you're a perfectly beautiful boy in *every* way. I most assuredly did *not* mean to make you feel —" 

"Many of the other boys..." Bruce frowns. "I've been. Larger." 

"And this is a problem?" 

Bruce stares at him as if he's begun speaking another language. Which — 

Jason smiles ruefully and strokes Bruce's hair. "I have not spent a significant amount of time around human children of *any* kind since the days when I helped your mother choose records to play you to sleep in your cradle, dear one." 

Bruce *blinks* many times — 

"*Before* then... well. It had been a *while*," Jason says, and strokes Bruce's chin with the fingertips of his other hand. "Bruce. Tell me *what* the trouble is with you being such a big and *strong* boy?" 

"The other boys... call me a gorilla. At times," Bruce says. And *blushes*. "There are... sometimes they make noises." 

*Jason* blinks. 

"It... I worry. About how hirsute I'm becoming." And Bruce hangs his head. 

Jason does not *laugh* — no. No. Now is an *excellent* time to take *advantage* of the situation the darkling creature bubbling away on the *floor* caused — 

To pull Bruce *close* — 

To pull him into a *hug* — 

"*Oh* —" 

"I haven't had one of *these* in quite some time, *either*," Jason says, and lets *all* of the smile into his voice, all of his need to let Bruce know — but. "It's all right, Bruce." 

Bruce *shudders* *hard* — 

And so Jason holds him tighter. "Wrap your arms round me, please." 

"I." 

"I believe it will help you feel better, dear one." 

"Mother. I." And Bruce sounds choked again, *strangled* — 

And Jason *is* — or can be — intuitive. "Was she the last one you held, dear one?" 

Bruce shudders again — 

Again and *again* — 

"I miss. I *miss*." 

"Do you know what she would've had me do to those petty little tormentors of yours...?" 

Bruce *stiffens* — "I... she... she wouldn't —" 

"She *loved* you, Bruce. Loved you with each and *every* fibre of her beautiful, perfect being," Jason says, and squeezes Bruce *tight* — 

Bruce *grunts* — 

"She loved you... and while *she* was not my liege —" 

"You. You would have done anything for her."

"Anything she wished. Even were you *not* the only beloved son of the man who *was* my liege." 

Bruce shudders more *lightly*... and wraps his arms around Jason's waist. The squeeze, when it comes, is light — but far more *careful* than hesitant. 

Jason closes his eyes. "Not so cautious, dear one. You can only hurt me by rejecting me." 

"I. Is that true?" 

Jason smiles, and thinks of his likeness of Marius — no longer a portrait — which is just as painfully haunted by his love as Jason has ever wished to be. 

It never, ever shows his beautiful face; or his slim, lithe, *growing* body; or his open *hand* — 

It never offers Jason that *gift* —

It *hasn't* since Marius was still *alive* — 

Because Marius has, perhaps, still not forgiven him for failing to save Marie-Helene all those years ago. 

And Marie-Helene had never had the chance to sit for a portrait, at all. Jason swallows and kisses Bruce's temple. "You can hurt me by rejecting me, by turning away from me, by hurting yourself, by *risking* yourself in foolish ways even after I've shown you better ways to achieve your goals... but these things are all the same, when all is said and done." 

Bruce swallows audibly and squeezes Jason tighter. "Sometimes I hurt the other boys." 

Jason shows his teeth to no one, at all. "Oh, yes, dear one...? Is that how you've come to know the taste of blood?" 

"Yes," Bruce says, flat and low... 

Jason strokes Bruce's back as firmly and soothingly as he can. "The boys you hurt... they aren't the ones who are most cruel to *you*. Are they." 

"No, Jason." 

When Jason was Guthlac, he'd wondered, more than once, if nobility — *rectitude* in the finest, purest, most *true* senses of the concept — could have a scent, or a taste, or something else *visceral* enough for a hungry little blood-witch like him to take into himself the way he wanted to take everything else about being one of *Arthur's* band. 

Now... 

Now, he knows that the flavour of such things changes from person to person. From being to *being*. Hez had it, of course — he'd wanted to create a new world for *everyone*, not just line his pockets — and there are many, *many* reasons why Jason endures the *muzzle* the Justice Society insists he wear when he works in tandem with them. 

And —

And he breathes deep of the *light* sweat at Bruce's temple before saying: "They hurt the *small* boys, yes? The *weaker* ones." 

"Yes." 

"Perhaps... the effeminate ones?" 

*Bruce* growls — 

And Jason smiles. "You've hurt them *badly*, haven't you, dear one..." 

"I. I've tried..." Bruce swallows audibly again. "I'm not supposed to fight," he says, earnest and correct and so very, very *hopeful*. 

Bruce is *more* than wise enough to know that Jason is offering him another way... but he *can* be explicit about it. "The simple — and unfortunate — fact of the matter is that the stealth you have tried so hard to teach yourself — the stealth you've *succeeded* in teaching yourself in many ways — well. I'll tell you a secret about the Justice Society which truly *isn't* one," Jason says, and pulls back *just* enough that he can smile down into Bruce's eyes. 

"And... it's all right for me to know it *because* it isn't truly a secret?" 

"*Just* so, dear one. I daresay it's something you would've come to discover for yourself, given just a bit more time to think about the Society as *people*." 

Bruce nods thoughtfully — and eagerly. "Please tell me." 

Jason inclines his head. "Most of them were not *much* older than you are right now when they first began dreaming of fighting for a better world — if not, quite, a better *multiverse*. And —"

"Oh — *oh*. They began *preparing* themselves for it?" 

"Oh, yes, dear one. And that preparation took *many* forms, and involved teaching themselves many *things* — including all the *myriad* ways to be stealthy. And all the myriad *reasons* to do it." And Jason raises an eyebrow. 

"You do that when you wish me to... think more deeply about something." 

Jason blinks — and smiles ruefully. "A reflex. An old, old, *old* reflex. One of my first squires — I was sixteen, Barden was a *vastly* solid and stout-*hearted* ten-year-old when I took him on — had no great ability to focus on his lessons unless he was being positively *stabbed* with eye contact at all times. Even gesturing with my hands for emphasis could distract him *abominably*. As I did not wish to beat him on a daily basis — living with my abusive old *sot* of a father had taught me *quite* well that that sort of thing had, at best, *limited* utility — I learned to do a great *deal* of teaching with my facial expressions." 

Bruce swallows and stares at him *hungrily*. 

"Yes, dear one?" 

"I. Want to know everything about you," Bruce says — and *doesn't* blush. 

Jason laughs. "I'll *tell* you everything. But first...?" 

Bruce blinks twice — and then nods. "Stealth is important for the maintenance of secret identities. Secret identities are important for any number of reasons when one is a vigilante operating in an extralegal fashion, no matter how popular one is. Even incarcerated criminals have families, friends, and other supporters and loved ones, and it would be impossible to try to track all of them down after capturing any given criminal, and impractical to try to do so. The secrets of the vigilantes must thus be maintained at all costs. However, certain things are more difficult to hide than others. Uniforms tear, or can be damaged in other ways. Most humans — and even most metahumans, according to the small amount of literature I've perused — have difficulty disguising many of the gross facts of their physicality, such as their heights and weights, and the overall thickness and growth patterns of their body hair." Bruce pauses and looks to him. 

And Jason does his best to let everything he's feeling show in his eyes, to let everything — no. No. *Martha* would not choose a moment like this to be *subtle*. "Remarkable analysis, and spot-on. Keep going." 

Bruce smiles with so much *light* — "Thank you, Jason. I've thought about methods of disguising the way I move and speak, but it's been very difficult to remember to keep the former both consistent and believable, and the latter seems almost impossible to *control*." 

"That *will* become easier as you age. More." 

Bruce's smile grows *wider*. "Thank you for that, as well. I... it occurred to me, of course, that the members of the Justice Society would have thought of all of this before. That people like — like Dr. *Fate* don't merely rely on their uniforms to disguise them, though his must do quite well at that —" 

"For entirely non-magical humans, yes. For the rest of us..." Jason smiles wryly. "Some things are far more difficult to disguise than others, but go on." 

"Yes, Jason. It's seemed as though it would be... too much." 

"Yes?" 

"Well — when I've fought..." Bruce swallows, and this time he *does* blush — but does not look away. "When I've fought, I've often *lost* control, Jason. Even when I've tried very hard not to do it. I've — sometimes I've lost track of *time* between one blow and the next, and — of course there have been times when I've had to give the lion's share of my attention over to simply keeping a close eye on all of my opponents." 

All — hmm. "There have been times when you've pitted yourself against *multiple* opponents, Bruce...?" 

"Several, yes. It — I've found that it's often the case that the very worst bullies are the most cowardly, and most likely to attack their prey in groups." 

Jason smiles. "Very, very true. You'll find that that theory bears out across *many* species and varieties of arsehole... if not *ever* all. Still. You've found yourself wondering how the Society maintains their more *subtle* disguises during difficult battles...?" 

"Yes, very much so, Jason. It seems — of course, they're all quite skilled, but —" 

"*But*, yes. The simple answer to your question is that they do *not* maintain those disguises at those times, dear one." 

"I — oh." 

Jason laughs *softly* at Bruce's obvious disappointment. "Take your theory to the *next* step, dear one." 

"I don't... I'm not certain —" 

"Shh. You know that the members of the Society have worked hard — brutally hard — for many years to achieve the heights they have achieved." 

"Yes, Jason." 

"You know that they've worked hard — *desperately* hard — in many ways to disguise their identities." 

"Yes, Jason." 

"You know that they *began* these labors at a very young —" 

"They. They lead *quiet* lives," Bruce says, *wonderingly*. 

Oh... "Do they...?" 

"They *must*, Jason. They — oh. Their physical attributes *alone*, I —" Bruce shakes his head and pulls away from Jason, pacing toward the armoires — 

The closets — 

The bureau — he stops, and stands and looks at himself in the large, ornately-bordered mirror. He *studies* himself, truly, and, after a long moment, he lifts his overlarge hands and clenches them into fists. And then he laughs, low and breathy and *appreciative*. 

"Yes, dear one?" 

"You... oh, Jason." Bruce shakes his head and smiles at Jason's reflection in the mirror. "I can't fight. I *can't* fight. When I was younger, it was, perhaps, all well and good for me to attack the people who hurt others, or who angered me in other ways, but..." He shakes his head again. "I'm entering adolescence, and thus becoming the man I will be for the rest of my life. I will *not* always be able to disguise my body, or my fighting styles, or the sounds I make when I'm hit, or my *scars*. Will I." 

"No, you will not —" 

"And so I can't fight," Bruce says, and nods slowly, a wry smile spreading across his face and making him look like no one so much as Nathaniel in the years *after* he was cursed — if only in those bare few moments of *relative* sanity Jason could wrest away from the multiverse for him.

Nathaniel was beautiful, too. He — 

"I... Jason, before this moment, I never believed it was *possible* that anyone could ever give me a reason not to fight that would *please* me." 

And that is... well. Jason laughs and takes a *deep* bow — 

And Bruce hums, low and appreciative. 

Jason rises and smiles. "I have something which will make you rather *more* pleased, I think, dear one." 

Bruce raises his *own* eyebrow — 

And Jason purrs — 

Which makes Bruce blink. "Jason?" 

Oh — fuck. Jason laughs and waves a carefully dismissive hand. "I am not *only* fond of that expression due to cheerful pedagogic memories, dear one." 

Bruce blinks several more times — "I took the expression from Mother." 

"Oh, yes, you *truly* did," Jason says, and tilts his head to the side again. "Though you had not perfected it before she was killed. When did you?" 

"I don't know. But — you stopped visiting when I was four. You wouldn't have —" 

"I did *not* stop visiting when you were four, dear one," Jason says, and smiles ruefully. "I simply began being much, much more careful. And... subtle." 

"You... hid yourself?" 

Jason inclines his head, tucks the sword and scabbard into a pocket dimension... and calls on shadow to allow himself to make himself as immaterial as possible.

Bruce blinks twice. "I take it that you did not merely hide your *reflection*," he says, and then turns to look back over his shoulder at the space where Jason *used* to be just the same. 

"It wouldn't be a very *useful* power if I could do only *that*," Jason says, and knows that Bruce is perceiving the sound of his voice coming from absolutely everywhere — 

And nowhere, as well. 

Jason laughs and re-materializes himself at Bruce's side, facing the mirror. "This was immensely useful during those times when you would crawl into *bed* with your mother, dear one." 

Bruce blushes. "I — you — did I *touch* you?" 

"Once or twice." And Jason laughs again. "All is well. We were both *deeply* tickled on those occasions." 

The blush darkens *dramatically* — and Bruce frowns, which is — 

No. Jason leans in and kisses Bruce's temple again. "There were times when you tickled me most *directly*, dear one..." 

"W-what?" 

"Well. You would be crawling *inside* me at times..." 

And the blush has now given Bruce's complexion a somewhat *tomato*-ish cast... but a gape is far, far better than a frown. 

Jason grins. "When I was a boy — and for many, many, *many* years after that — the vast majority of the world's population was made up of people who lived cheek by jowl with one another, dear one. *Privacy* in all things is a luxury. A luxury that was *not* available to the masses until *very* recently." 

Bruce blinks away his gape for a *thoughtful* expression... and that's even better, still. 

"In any event —" 

"Mother said that you're of the nobility." 

"Oh — dear. *Guthlac* of *Mercia* was of the nobility when he was born to a rather powerful and *desperately* illiterate blood-witch who had allowed a somewhat garbled prophecy — mind you, they all *are* garbled — to lead her into binding a *not* especially powerful and *egregiously* illiterate back-country lord to her spirit as her lover. Further garbled prophecies followed once she got with child — most of them *quite* dark — and it got into my mother's head that some of them could be alleviated were I allowed to be born legitimate — and landed. Further binding followed." Jason spreads his hands.

"That... does not... hm." 

"Yes, dear one...?" 

Bruce frowns somewhat nervously — and then he takes a deep breath, squares his shoulders, and looks Jason in the eye. "I'm sure your parents were wonderful people, and I'm sorry that you've lost them." 

Jason coughs. "Bruce." 

"I. I'm sorry —" 

"No, Bruce." 

"I shouldn't — it's only that that doesn't sound very — but. Of course I shouldn't judge. And I won't. Judge." 

Jason bites the inside of his lip to hold in *laughter* — 

And Bruce frowns *while* licking his lips nervously — and with, of course, terribly correct restraint. "When... when you say she *bound* him —" 

"Enslaved his spirit, yes." 

"Did he... take that... well?" 

"Asar's missing *cock*, no. You do recall my mentioning the abuse and drunkenness, yes...?" 

Bruce winces. "Were they... was that *caused* by the enchantment on him?" 

"Difficult to say," Jason says, and builds another fire between his hands. This one shows his improbably- and irritatingly-large father stomping through the long-crumbled keep, snarling at all and sundry, kicking everyone and everything who didn't move — or which wasn't *moved* — out of his way quickly enough. 

There are countless scars on his knuckles, and there are bloodstains on his sleeves and boots and leggings. 

There are *many* other stains all *over* the rest of him — 

He's baring his teeth like a *beast* — 

And then his mother comes into view. Small and aged before her time — hair more white than red even though, at the time of this memory, she could not have been older than her late twenties. 

The pregnancy had been difficult on her, despite the active physical and magical support of her mother and the well and truly *faithful* local people. 

The constant need to control her husband... was even harder. 

In the memory — and Jason gives Bruce the knowledge that the boy Jason had been... had been padding along at his father's heels in an attempt to learn the secrets of *how* his mother controlled him so that he could do it himself — 

So that he could finally end the *beatings* — 

Bruce makes a *pained* sound — 

And there is his father cursing his mother for a hag, a whore, a slattern, a monster, a fairy, a demon — and many, many other things he had even *less* understanding of — 

There is no great difficulty in making the language *seem* like something *close* to modern English for Bruce — 

Bruce is *growling* — 

And Jason's mother — and she will always *be* his mother, even though she only ever knew the boy she allowed to be named Guthlac, even though the very blood that runs in Jason's veins is fundamentally *different* than that which ran in Guthlac's — is smiling as she gestures — 

As she *beckons* — 

And his father strides closer and closer to his mother almost naturally, almost *purely* — and *utterly* free of consciousness that he's being controlled. 

She smiles, strained and triumphant — 

He raises his thick, scarred, callused hand — 

She bites her lower lip and *spits* — 

And his father barely has time to flinch for the bloody spittle hitting his eyes before he's stiffening, slowing — 

Slowing — 

*Slowing* — 

But his mother still lets his slap land. 

And the next one. 

And the next. She even turns into them enough that one of the backhands — slow and weakened as it is — opens a cut high on her right cheek. 

Bruce *groans* — 

And the boy Guthlac was before he was a man — and *long* before he was anything *like* Jason Blood — turns and runs away as his father begins to fumble with his leggings. 

As his mother laughs. 

Jason pulls the fire back into himself — 

And Bruce is staring up at him, staring and *shuddering* — 

And Jason smiles ruefully. "I missed my family *deeply* when I was sent off to be a squire to Ser Darwyn... but not for very long, as these things go." 

Bruce looks *wounded* again for that, and Jason — can't. 

He turns to Bruce and cups his face again, strokes his cheekbones with his thumbs — "Tell me. Let me ease you." 

"I don't... I don't understand." 

Jason smiles ruefully. "Ask a specific question, please." 

Bruce swallows and nods. "She — she didn't have to let him — *why* did she let him?" 

Jason gives himself a moment to remember the scents of old blood and sweat and grime that constantly hung about his father —

The sour must of old ale and *fear* — 

On *that* day, he had learned how much of that fear was his father's own. Jason sighs and strokes Bruce more. "As you could tell, my father *suspected* that he was under my mother's control." 

"Yes. Yes, I... but. He didn't know for certain? He *never* knew for certain?" 

"Not ever, dear one. And while the man was ignorant and absolutely *dim* in many ways, he was also smart enough to have bested his own father and six elder brothers for his title. He —" 

"He — he was a seventh son?" 

Jason laughs. "I see *some* of the old knowledge has trickled down to the modern age well enough. Yes, dear one, he *was*. There is power in such things — especially among those who *believe* in the power of such things, and my father was one such. My mother *was* powerful enough to hold my father *entirely* under her control... but then she became pregnant with me, and ceded a great *deal* of her power *to* me." 

"That's... possible?"

Jason inclines his head. "And nearly *always* inadvisable. Love and family-feeling aside. Still... my mother and her mother had an *agenda* in my making, and they did everything they could to *serve* it." And Jason raises an eyebrow. 

Bruce swallows, looking *sick* — and then nods. "She was... building a story for your father to live within. A... narrative he could believe in." 

"Go on." 

"She made him believe that he had... absolute control over her and... everything else?" 

"Oh, yes." 

Bruce frowns again. "He still hurt other people."

Jason smiles ruefully again. "Many other people." 

"Including you." 

Jason inclines his head. "Though the beatings I received were far less severe than those received by his squires, the servants, the bondsmen and women, et cetera." 

"*Jason* —" 

"Bruce." 

"You. I believe you're about to tell me something about it being another *time* —" 

"It truly *was* —" 

"Forgive me, Jason, but I don't believe that that works as — as a reasonable *enough* explanation." 

Jason tilts his head to the side. And raises an eyebrow again. 

Bruce swallows and squares his shoulders. "Your mother was hurt — physically *and* magically, even if, somehow, she was not injured emotionally." 

"Very true." 

"The people who supported you — and depended on you and your parents for their livelihood — were hurt, viciously and repeatedly." 

"Oh, yes." 

"Your *father* was — his *mind* was hurt —" 

"Raped, truly. Again and again." 

Bruce shudders — but holds himself firm. "You were hurt, Jason." 

"I —" 

"You were hurt badly enough that you — that you *stopped* missing your parents even though you didn't leave them by choice. Even though... you never saw them again?" 

Jason closes his eyes — but only for a moment. "Never," he says, and meets Bruce's wide, hungry, *forceful* gaze. "Not in this life and not in *any* of the afterlives I have visited."

"Oh... oh, Jason, I —" Bruce shakes his head. "I. I would like to hug you."

Jason inhales sharply — 

"I don't know. I don't know if that's —" 

Jason pulls him close — 

And Bruce hugs him fiercely, tightly, *awkwardly* — 

Jason grunts — 

"I don't. I don't know — I don't want to hug you any more loosely —" 

"You need not." 

"But if you're uncomfortable —" 

Jason laughs with *something* of a wheeze. "You may wish to hug your *classmates* less firmly than this — 

"I. Can't hurt you." 

"No, dear one," Jason says, and hugs Bruce back, tight and firm and — 

"You're very warm."

"Etrigan is a fire-demon."

"Does that. Is there..." 

"Yes?"

"I don't know what question I want to ask." 

Jason laughs quietly and squeezes Bruce still more firmly. "You can choose any." 

"I want — I like the way you feel." 

Jason narrows his eyes and breathes deep — "I like many, many things about you, Bruce." 

"What —" 

"I don't *dislike* anything about you — yet. We have much to learn about each other, though," Jason says, and laughs again. "I may absolutely loathe the way you go about brushing your teeth." 

"I —" 

"You may have positively despicable sleep habits, too." 

"Jason —" 

Jason kisses Bruce's temple twice — three times. 

"I. I like that, too." 

"So do I, dear one —" 

"If Dr. Fate cleanses me, I won't enjoy the way you touch me. Will I." 

And, of course, this is *why* he touches people so *carefully* after he curses them — 

Taints them — 

*Poisons* their *souls* — Jason smiles ruefully and lets himself nuzzle Bruce's scalp. Lets himself. "You may." 

"Oh. Yes?" 

"There are any number of people in this world — and others — who *vastly* enjoy being disturbed, dear one," Jason says, and lets every bit of his wry smile into his voice. 

"I... don't." 

Jason laughs softly. "I suspected not. Bruce —" 

"I don't want to be cleansed, Jason." 

"I also suspected that." 

"Then why —"

Jason kisses the center of Bruce's forehead, letting it linger, letting himself feel the softness of Bruce's skin — 

Letting himself taste, just for a moment, the salt of *sweat* — 

And letting himself feel Bruce's shiver. He holds Bruce *tighter* — 

"I. I like this, too, Jason..." 

I'll never let you go — but Jason doesn't say that aloud. Instead, he nuzzles a *gentle* path to Bruce's left ear — 

He waits for Bruce to shiver for the feel of his hot, dry breath — 

"Dear one. It is the responsibility of the vassal to always, always strive to give his liege the best of himself — and of the worlds surrounding them both." 

"I —" 

"*This* means that I *must* do everything in my power — or at least everything that I *can* — to guide you away from that which I consider dangerous." 

"Like... your corruption."

"Just so," Jason says, and kisses Bruce's ear — 

Bruce inhales sharply — and the scent of his arousal — 

The *feel* of it all through his *aura* — 

The feel of it surrounding them *both* — pulses. 

Jason licks his teeth. "You need not be cleansed until you wish it —" 

"And. And then I can be corrupted again?" 

"Whenever you wish it," Jason says, and watches the tiny, colourless hairs rise on the shell of Bruce's ear. 

"I often don't know what I... wish," Bruce says, and sounds mournful, *shamed* — 

"A vassal can help with that, too." 

Bruce steps back — 

Jason doesn't bare his teeth — he stands straight and raises an eyebrow. 

Bruce frowns up at him *curiously*. "You make it sound as though you *wish* to help me with — with *everything*." 

Jason smiles. "I do." 

"But — you have your own life. And — your *work*. The care of your home, and... of course you'll want to spend time with your friends —" 

Jason raises two fingers. "All of those things are true — in their ways, and in their places." 

Bruce nods and frowns more deeply. 

"Dear one... their places are to be found *firmly* behind *you*." 

Bruce *blinks* — and swallows. "You. I'm not that important." 

"You are to me," Jason says, and spreads his hands. "It's really quite simple." 

"I'm. It feels." 

"Yes...?" 

Bruce looks down at the floor — and stiffens. 

Jason takes a moment to look at Bruce's erstwhile *companion* — and finds two distinct puddles of *partially* corporeal *sludge*, each contained by its own cursed shield. Well. 

So much for *interrogating* the thing. 

Jason moves close enough to Bruce to reach for him, to cup his chin, to *lift* his chin so that they may face each other once more. "You spared it an even *more* painful death." 

Bruce *flinches* — 

And Jason *grips* his chin. "I had every intention of banishing it to a hell-dimension filled with creatures who positively *live* for the opportunity to take their decidedly violent pleasures on those who feed on and torment the young in *unauthorized* ways," Jason says, and raises an eyebrow. 

For a moment, Bruce's expression remains bleak, hurt, *sickened* — 

Jason *holds* his gaze — 

And curiosity wins out, the desire to know, the desire to *learn*. 

Bruce is his father's son, as well. Jason inclines his head to the *many* unspoken questions in Bruce's eyes. "There are gods. There are demons. There are devils. There are powers which are *none* of those. All of these beings — *creatures* — and more dabble in the workings of the multiverse, and quite often make decisions about what should happen to mortals like *you*." And your parents — no. Not that *yet*. "While it is *possible* that some higher — or 'higher' — power had marked you for torment, there is *no* power which does not have enemies *somewhere*," Jason says, and smiles sharply. "One of the things I rather *like* about the multiverse is the way that tormenting innocent children tends to be an excellent way to *make* enemies. In all *sorts* of places." 

Bruce nods thoughtfully. "Even if I *had* been chosen for — torment, there would have been other beings who disagreed with the choice." 

"Oh, yes, dear one. Like *me*." 

Bruce swallows. 

And then he does it again. 

And then he *shudders* — and fights *subtly* against Jason's grip on his chin. 

"Bruce —" 

"I want. To look. Please." 

Jason takes a breath and releases Bruce, but does not move away from him again. 

Bruce stares down at the puddles in silence for a long moment, still and blank everywhere save for his eyes, which are filled with fear, regret, sadness, resignation, *guilt* — 

Jason does not bare his *teeth* — 

"It was... your blood? That killed the Bat?"

Speech is better than the alternative. "Yes, dear one. Though the sword I used to slice it in half was cursed in a way damaging to such beings — if relatively lightly so. Had it not been healed — cleansed, truly — the curse would *eventually* have killed it." 

Bruce nods once and goes back to staring. 

Jason does not *incinerate* the puddles — 

Nor does he *paw* at Bruce like a desperate *dog* — 

Intense desire to lick the boy's balls *notwithstanding* —

He also does not laugh.

At *all* — 

And the desire to do so *thankfully* crushes itself at the sound of Bruce's lost little sigh. "I don't have. Friends." 

"You have *me*." 

"Can a vassal be a friend?" 

Well... Jason reaches over and strokes Bruce's cheek — definitely *some* stubble forming — with his fingertips. "A vassal can — and should — be anything his liege *wishes* him to be." 

Bruce swallows again — and looks up, turning to him. "I would like for you. To be my friend." 

The pound of Jason's *heart* — is itself. "I am honoured." 

"You were. You weren't Father's friend." 

"No." 

"Grandfather's?" 

Jason laughs darkly. "Jonah *loathed* me. Which was *quite* all right, as I felt much the —" 

"Was it? All right?" 

Jason blinks — and thinks of *Rutherford* Wayne's — Jonah's father's — punctiliously *exact* contributions of blood, of the distaste Jason could always *smell* long before he tasted it and renewed their link, of the way Rutherford never ceased to *remind* him that he would do everything in his power — however limited it *was* — to *break* the link between them if Jason so much as *hinted* to the then-young Jonah about the truth about Jason's relationship to the Wayne family — 

And Jonah had been beautiful then. 

Bright and tall, intelligent and ambitious, *cheerful* — with a laugh that positively *arrested* the boys who habitually surrounded him in their tracks — 

And the girls had loved him, too — 

And Jason had hoped. 

Jason would've — and *did* — follow *Nathaniel's* laugh off *cliffs*. 

Marie-Helene, when she spoke of her dreams of helping Gotham to grow still larger under her and Marius's direction — 

Jason had *hoped* — 

"Jason...?"

And, of course, he's standing here *cupping* Bruce's face as he dreams of what he'd had, what he'd lost, and what he'd never had the *chance* to have. He laughs with pain. "You have my apologies, dear one. It was most assuredly *not* all right." 

Bruce nods and stares at him — *into* him — with wide, full eyes. Desiring eyes — 

Desirous of the wrong — but.

Jason will give him *everything*. He smiles ruefully. "There are *many* immortal and *functionally* immortal beings in the multiverse. Beings who were once human, beings who were once demons, beings who were created whole and full and perfect from the imaginations of the wild and *mad* children of beings neither you nor I could ever truly *imagine* — before we met them." 

"Oh. Yes?" 

"Yes. I have spoken to any *number* of these beings — gods and monsters, powers and tides, principalities and et cetera and et *cetera* — and while there is no one thing that they *all* have in common, there *is* one thing which gets repeated time and time and time *again* when the question of how to live *well* over the long, soul-deadening centuries is brought up. Can you guess?" 

Bruce shakes his head. "I... I find I want to *give* the idea a great deal of thought, Jason, because I never have." 

"No? Not at all?" 

"I —" 

Jason holds up two fingers. "I rescind that question. Your mother wished to keep me *mostly* secret from you, and your father would've preferred my existence — and the existence of *everything* even *remotely* supernatural — to be *theoretical*," he says, and laughs quietly. "You've never so much as *sniffed* a holy book. Have you."

Bruce's expression gains a degree of sourness which makes him look his age for a moment — 

A moment which makes Jason even hungrier. "Yes...?" 

"I've *read* —" Bruce growls and shakes his head. "I wasn't aware that the benefits of holy books could be gained through the use of them as inhalants, Jason."

Jason grins. "Well... *no*. *That* sort of thing is better saved for sucking up the wayward spirits of saints, holy men... and whoever else is silly enough to let themselves get burnt at the *stake*."

"I." 

Jason laughs *hard* for a moment — and then hums. "Should I apologize...?" 

"For making me imagine consuming the carbonized remains of the religiously persecuted?" 

"For *some* people that's an excellent way to pass a Saturday *night*, dear one..." 

Bruce raises an eyebrow. "You're trying to scandalize me." 

"Am I...?" 

"Does it seem like a good method of distracting me, Jason?" 

Oh... "Well. You *are* very young —" 

"Tell me... tell me how to pass the centuries. Teach me." 

Jason lets his lips part. "Was that an order, my liege?" 

Bruce blinks — and blushes *very* deeply as he gazes with hungry *confusion* into Jason's eyes, which — 

Is something to treasure, and enjoy, and *wallow* in for the few seconds Jason can bring himself to do it — 

The few seconds he can *stand* to do it without *pouncing* on Bruce and tearing off his staid little school-uniform trousers with his *teeth* and *claws* — 

And then Jason draws himself back *internally* — though not without breathing Bruce's arousal *deep* — smiles, and winks. "A vassal *always* takes his liege's orders, dear one." 

"A-always?" 

"Well... even the *most* worthy vassal might *hesitate* now and again... if he feels the order given might hurt his liege in some way." 

Bruce *touches* his tongue to his upper lip. 

Oh... "Are you thinking of being hurt?" 

"Yes. I. I don't know..." Bruce frowns *thunderously*. 

"Shh," Jason says, though of course Jason's beginning to believe *this* Wayne needs as little hushing as *possible*. He strokes Bruce's cheek; and his chin; and his dry, thin lower lip. "What don't you know, dear one?" 

"I don't know how I'll be able to... to *judge* whether something will hurt me or not, Jason." 

"A good vassal —" 

"You'll help me?" 

Jason feels his nostrils flaring without his *permission* — 

Jason feels the years he wasn't *here* for Bruce stretch and yawn and *gape* behind him, accusatory and *mocking* at once — 

*Teasing* him with what he could have *had* — but he has it now. And he will keep it. Jason inclines his head *deeply* before looking up again, before gazing into Bruce's eyes. "I will always help you, Bruce. I will do everything I *can* to help you —"

"Then — tell me." Bruce frowns again, but it's with frustration, desire, *need* — 

"Everything, Bruce," Jason says, and laughs. "One, it is *not* so strange for immortals — no matter what their look, their powers, their origins, their philosophies, or their moral *alignments* — to *attach* themselves to a given family. *Especially* if that family shows every sign of both being able to propagate itself over the generations *and* of being likely to *need* the immortal in question for one thing or another — or, preferably, *many* things — as the years pass." And Jason raises an eyebrow. 

Bruce blinks. "There is... consistency?" 

"Oh, yes." 

"And... hm. Does it feel..." 

"Yes?" 

"Does it make the inevitable grief as one generation passes to the next... less?" 

Jason laughs darkly. "No. Not at *all*. But... it always, *always* *seems* as though it will. One can tell oneself — no. One *does* tell oneself, as each child is born, that there is continuity, that there is meaning in the fact that the infant seems likely to grow to have the eyes of her great-grandfather, or the unabashedly *lusty* drives of her grandmother, or the gentle love for *you* of her uncle. One forgets — *always* — that each child is an entirely new individual to fall in love with... or with whom to do nothing of the kind. This lie is one of the most *popular* ways to negotiate one's immortality." 

Bruce nods thoughtfully. "It... makes a difference." 

Jason inclines his head. "Never, ever underestimate the power — the *fire* — of *hope*." 

"You. You've given me. Hope." 

More than your erstwhile companion...? "Good," Jason says, and smiles. "I will always try to do just that — and rather more than —"

"Please tell me about Mother. About. About how she felt about — but." And Bruce's expression crumples like a child's. It — 

Jason pulls him close once more, and holds him, and fights *back* the urge to murmur warmly meaningless nonsense. For all that such things *have* provided comfort to many Jason has loved in the past — 

Not this boy. 

Instead, Jason kisses the boy's temple over and over again before he says, "She loved you. She loved the life she *made* with your father. She loved the look of him in your features — she said, *many* times, that you *perfected* his beauty —" 

"I. I remember..." Bruce shudders and nearly *drives* himself closer to Jason's body, tries to *burrow* himself against him — 

And Jason holds him tighter. "She loved *you*, and how *you* loved, dear one. Including the ways in which you loved your *father*." 

Bruce inhales sharply — "She... did?" 

And Jason must tread carefully — but he need *not* lie. "Oh, yes. You were a marvel to her. A *wonder* brought to life through a magic more old and strange and powerful than anything *I* could ever show her. And, even when you were strange to *her* — even when she could not understand you at *all* — you were perfect." 

For a long moment, Bruce breathes. *Only* breathes. 

Jason strokes him — 

"When. Do you have to leave?" 

Not 'when *will* you leave' or even 'how long can you stay', but... Jason narrows his eyes against his need to *touch* more — "As you know, I share this soul and body with Etrigan. In the interest of both peace and our mutual health, I *must* surrender my control of them to him... soon. But not for another few hours." 

Bruce shivers. "And you can stay that long?" 

Jason smiles. "I have many wards and alarms and et *cetera* set in my shop — and home. They *will* notify me should it become necessary for me to leave." 

Bruce's hands shake on Jason's back — 

*Spasm* — 

And still. "How. How long —" And Bruce swallows with an audible *click*, cutting himself off rather brutally — 

But Jason knows what he was going to ask. He strokes up to the back of Bruce's head with one hand, pushing into Bruce's soft hair, and strokes down to Bruce's waist with his other hand — 

"Oh. I like —" 

Jason squeezes with *both* hands — 

Bruce *grunts* — "I. I. Jason. I think —" 

"Shh. You'll have to go down to dinner soon, yes?" 

"With — I — I don't know. What time it is," Bruce says, and his voice is shaking — 

And his *body* is shaking — 

And he is just — a little — hard. 

"It's nearly five-thirty, dear one..." 

"Oh — I — Alfred will — it's — I have to go —" 

"Shh. I'll wait here for you," Jason says, and smiles — 

Bruce inhales sharply again — 

Again — 

"You... yes?" 

"Oh, yes." And Jason kisses *both* of Bruce's temples — and forces himself to step *back*.

Bruce *pants*. "I didn't. Want you to do that." 

Jason lets his lips part. "You may always have my touch." 

Bruce *starts* to frown — 

Turns to the shielded *puddles* on the floor — 

"I..." 

"Oh... may I dispose of these now?" 

Bruce allows the frown to take his face *fully* — "The... soul is gone?" 

"Such as was there in the first place, yes," Jason says, gesturing the two compartments into one. The fact that they were separated by that *particular* cursed blade means that the two puddles do not — *cannot* — blend themselves into one, however, as opposed to squelching foully *near* each other within the single shield.

"Is there an afterlife?" 

"Many. Many and many and *many*... depending on that which one believes, desires, fears, requires..." Jason gestures far more innocuously — and dramatically. "This creature, I daresay, has returned to the darkness from which it came." 

Bruce's expression *quirks* — 

"Yes, dear one...?" 

"I... feel strongly that that should be more *metaphorical* than it seemed to be, Jason." 

Jason laughs just a *bit* evilly. "Terribly sorry." 

Bruce raises an eyebrow — 

And Jason lets his smile be as *hungry* as it wishes to be. "And I am, of course, positively *gagging* to grovel to you for that *egregious* lie..." 

Bruce... blushes. 

*Precisely* as if he can hear *everything* Jason *hasn't* said about what *else* he's gagging for — 

What he would absolutely never — *ever* — gag *on* — 

And Jason lets himself look at the bulge in Bruce's trousers. 

Gaze at it, truly. 

*Dream* about it — 

He had, of course, bitten back *all* of his urges to cheer Thomas on in his decidedly quixotic — for an American of *his* era — campaign to end the circumcision of infants, and of *all* males who were not old enough to consent to the procedure. 

It's not that Jason thinks the man was *truly* bloody-minded enough to switch sides solely because Jason *agreed* with him about something; it's just that he'd never wanted to take the *risk*. And now... well. 

*Now*, Bruce Wayne is the decidedly, marvelously, *delightfully* overdeveloped thirteen-year-old standing in front of him with a decidedly, marvelously, and delightfully burgeoning *erection* — 

"Sometimes. Sometimes... the Bat spoke of. Sex." 

— which Jason could stop staring at *any* time. He looks *up* — and raises an eyebrow at his liege. "Oh, yes?"


	3. In which the pedagogy takes an ultimately predictable turn.

"I —" 

"Wait," Jason says, and raises two fingers once more. "While I try *very* hard to avoid making *any* sorts of assumptions, at *all*, as a general rule..." 

"Yes, Jason?" 

"I feel *quite* comfortable saying that the demon *actively* feeding on your pain, suffering, and general *loneliness* was almost certainly giving you terrible advice when it comes to *romance*." 

Bruce blushes again. "It. It wasn't. It didn't speak of... romance." 

Well, then. "No...? Then what?" 

The blush deepens — 

*Deepens* — 

Bruce makes a *strangled* sound — and his erection actually *flags*. 

That will *never* do. "Come now, dear one, *tell* me what the creature said to you, so that I may teach you the *truth* of the matter." 

Bruce shakes his head — 

"Bruce —" 

"It's — I. It's only..." Bruce looks up to meet Jason's eyes again, and his expression is dark, wry, amused, ashamed, hopeful, frightened — 

Too *much* — "Dear one, I'm feeling a *distinct* urge to find some *desperately* ill-advised way to *resurrect* that creature purely so that I can murder it more *painfully*." 

Bruce stiffens — "Please —" 

Jason winces. *Right*. "I apologize. I..." He banishes the shielded remains of the creature to one of Lucifer's desperately, horribly, *painfully* bright hells, then removes the shield entirely. *Nothing* will bring the thing back from *that*, and —

"Where —" 

"Gone. *Forever*," Jason says, and considers for a moment — yes. He sits tailor-style on the floor, then pats a space on the carpeting in front of him. "Come." 

"I... should —" 

"*Speak* to me, at length and in *detail*, about the horrid things your beautiful mind has been filled with for the past — did you say it came to you when you were *seven*?" 

"Yes —" 

"I was bloody *here*, then —" Jason cuts himself off with a growl and shakes his head. "Obviously, I was not doing my *job*," he says, and *points* to the floor. "*Sit*, Bruce. *Please*." 

Bruce swallows, nods, and does it. He is graceful even with his flagging erection, even with the embarrassment choking him, even with the roil of *emotions* choking him — 

"Beautiful..." Jason shakes his head and smiles. "You will have *everything* of me. I *promise*. Please *help* me give you your *due*."

Bruce stares at him with *wide* eyes again — 

*Wondering* eyes — 

And then he nods thoughtfully and *decisively* at once. "It told me that it was the only one who would never leave me." 

"That is a lie, and I will spend your *life* proving that to you." 

Bruce swallows *again*. "Please. I. Please." 

"*Yes*. Now more," Jason says, and folds his hands together to keep himself from *gripping* at the boy — 

It is not *yet* time for that — 

But it will be. He will *see* to it. "All will be well, dear one." 

"I. I want to believe that." 

Jason allows himself to smile rapaciously. "A worthy vassal *makes* his liege believe in him *implicitly*." 

Bruce blinks, obvious curiosity relaxing him the same way it has done over the course of their entire acquaintance. "How?" 

Jason laughs. "The answer to *that* question changes with each and every vassal, and each and every liege. We must discover it together, dear one."

"That... is a frustrating answer." 

"I promise you: We will discover it *faster* the more we converse with each other." 

"And... the more topics we converse about?" 

"*Oh*, yes," Jason says, and raises an eyebrow. 

And Bruce gives another decisive nod. "The Bat spoke of sexual predators. It spoke of their... ubiquity." 

"In Gotham?" 

Bruce frowns. "It didn't seem to specify... *are* there more sexual predators here than there are in other cities?" 

"Dear one, Gotham is built on a *pentagram* which was, itself, inscribed on the *scarred* corpus of one of the most wildly and *incomprehensibly* powerful gods in the multiverse. My — and Etrigan's, and the shadow's — presence here has kept things *reasonably* calm for the past few hundred years, but that does not change the fact that the life-blood of this city is magic, madness, and the *actual* blood of the ritually *sacrificed*. There is more of *everything* here — good, bad, and otherwise — than there is *anywhere* else." 

"That... is very exciting," Bruce says, and touches his tongue to his upper lip again.

Jason grins. "Certainly, *I've* always thought so. Now what *about* those sexual predators? Was the creature warning you against them?" 

"Yes — or..." 

"Yes...?" 

Bruce frowns *thoughtfully*. "There was a kind of... inevitability to the Bat's tone when it spoke about the sexual predators, and what they would do to me and every other person I thought positively about —" 

Jason growls — 

And Bruce blinks. "Jason?" 

Jason raises two fingers. "Please keep speaking, dear one. I am only angry at the creature filling your mind with... well. *Continue*." 

Bruce looks down at the floor. "It — I didn't always understand the things the Bat would show me." 

"That is *quite* natural, considering the fact that it was undoubtedly tormenting you with the very worst things it could think of —" 

"No, I. I mean... I didn't always understand that the things it was showing me *could* ever be... sexual." 

Jason frowns. "*That* is natural, dear one —" 

"It. When the Bat explained it." Bruce clutches his hands together — almost *wrings* them — 

"Bruce, whatever it is —"

"I don't think. I don't think it's... correct. To fantasize about abuse," Bruce says, and his blush is dark once more, and the scent of his sweat is *high* in the air — 

But there's too much *fear* — 

"I don't think. I believe. It's only —" And Bruce cuts himself off with a *growl* before looking up at Jason again with a *haunted* expression in his eyes. "It was what I *knew* of sexuality, Jason!" 

"Of course —" 

"And — and I *used* it," Bruce says, clenching his hands into fists and *beating* at his own thighs. "I *masturbated* myself with the Bat's words!" 

Oh... "All right, it was a *terrible* idea for me to stop holding you —" 

"No — *no* —" 

"*Yes*, dear one, because now is the *precise* correct time for you to understand that it is *proper* to be *touched* by people who *care* about you when you feel *upset*."

"I — I'm *soiled*, Jason —" 

"You're a *thirteen*-year-old *virgin* — I can *smell* it, dear one — with a soul which would be as pure as the driven *snow* were it not for *me*," Jason says, and exhales — 

And exhales *shadows* — 

And *coils* those shadows around his liege — 

"*Oh* — what — these — but I remember..." 

"Yes, your mother *quite* liked these from time to time," Jason says, and *beckons* — 

"*Jason* —" 

— and the shadows *arrange* Bruce between Jason's legs on the floor, back to his front, and *hold* him there. 

"That — *this* is somewhat disconcerting —" 

"But it *isn't* the twisted sexual fantasies of a demon possessing a child — I would *know* — so already we've achieved *improvement*," Jason says, and wraps his arms around Bruce *tightly*, kissing the back of Bruce's neck — 

Bruce shivers and *moans* — 

Jason squeezes him *harder*. "You are not soiled, dear one." 

"I —" 

"At *some* point, we will go through each and *every* nasty little thing that *creature* told you, and I will tell you which aspects of the fantasy are common *where* and with *whom* — I *promise* you that each and *every* aspect of sexuality, no matter *how* bizarre, obscene, and *base* it may seem, is popular with *someone* *somewhere* — but, for now..." Jason breathes deeply and kisses the back of Bruce's neck several more times, slowly and softly. 

"Please —" 

"Do you like this, dear one?" 

"It. It." 

"Yes...?" 

"The Bat told me *you* would molest me, Jason!" 

Well, perhaps it wasn't a *complete* idiot... "You're a beautiful boy in every way, as I've said." 

Bruce gasps — 

And Jason smiles. "You are a beautiful boy... and you are my liege," he says, and kisses Bruce again — 

"I — Jason —" 

"I live to serve you, Bruce. *Dear* one. I live to serve you in each and *every* way you desire," Jason says, and *nuzzles* the back of Bruce's neck, which is nearly the color of brick with Bruce's flush, and hot, so *hot* — 

"Was. Was the Bat... correct?" 

"It's an interesting question, but... *ultimately*, I'd have to say no. For reasons which *aren't* self-serving, as well." And Jason laughs softly and tugs Bruce's head up enough that he can kiss his ear. 

Bruce shivers — "What. What reasons?" 

"Do you choose to be touched in the Bat's fantasies?" 

"N-no. Or. Not always —" 

"You must *always* choose *my* touch, dear one. I can do nothing to harm you, and I *will* do nothing against your will." 

Bruce pants and is otherwise silent. 

Jason holds him and kisses his ear a few more times — 

"I am... very aroused." 

"From the fantasies?" 

"And. And your... touches. I don't. I don't think. I'm not sure if I want you to convince me that this is appropriate." 

Jason smiles again. "I'm not sure if that was the truth." 

"I want — you've made love with Mother." 

"Many times." 

"And... others of my... relatives?" 

"Oh, yes. Many, *many* times." 

Bruce *gulps* air — "Are you my father." 

"Oh, dear — I... suppose that *is* a reasonable question... ah. No, dear one." 

"Are you —" 

"I'm *quite* certain. As I am *also* positive that *none* of the Waynes are secretly Bloods." 

"But *how* can you be —" 

"*Because*, dear one, the rather *phenomenally* dark ritual which bound my soul to Etrigan's and took us both beyond the reach of mortality, et cetera, et *cetera*... also made it so that we *both* shoot *blanks*." 

"What does that — oh. Hm." 

"Yes...?" 

"That seems an excessively violent metaphor for infertility, Jason." 

"You're almost *certainly* correct. Now. Shall I make you come?"

"*Hnh* — I — I — *Jason*!" 

"I would enjoy it *very* much, dear one," Jason says, and forces himself to keep his hands *still* on Bruce's body, to simply continue to *hold* him. "It would give me... great pleasure." 

Bruce shudders. "To. Please?" 

Jason kisses Bruce's ear again —

"Jason —" 

"Yes. Always. I take it the Bat did *not* share with you the pleasures inherent to giving oneself over to pleasing a lover?"

Bruce groans *deeply* and *shudders* — "I — I would — fantasize..." 

Jason feels himself *thicken* — 

Feels himself *ache* with the need to touch, to bite, to claw, to *taste* — 

"Tell me, Bruce. Tell me everything..." 

Bruce shudders again and nods. "It. It would show me my classmates. Some of my classmates. Being touched." 

When he was *seven*? Perhaps he'll ask that question *later*. "How were they touched, dear one?" 

"They. Their clothes were... removed," Bruce says, and pants more — 

The scent of his sweat is sharp and tangy and *thick* — 

"Their bodies were. I never knew how the Bat could imagine such *detail*." And Bruce's voice is mournful, curious, desperate, *hungry* — 

"That class of demon *rarely* bothers with the niceties of imagination, dear one," Jason says, and *presses* Bruce's earlobe between his lips — 

"Oh — but — *how*?" 

Jason presses *firmly* for a moment — 

"I like — I like —" 

Jason uses his *teeth* — 

And Bruce grunts and *jerks* in Jason's arms — and grips Jason's thighs with his impressively large hands. 

Jason releases Bruce's ear and sighs. "Do you need me — no. Would you *like* for me to stop, Bruce?" 

"I. I'm not — no," Bruce says, but... 

Jason makes a point of holding Bruce very firmly indeed with his hands. "I do not think you were certain about that answer, my liege." 

Bruce shivers — 

And *shivers* — 

And *squeezes* Jason's thighs. "I am. I often find it... very difficult to think. When I am aroused." 

"Very aroused?" 

"Yes. Yes, Jason. Are you." Bruce swallows audibly again — 

"'Am I'...? Ah. I am quite aroused, yes." 

"For. But — you haven't seen or heard the things the Bat shared with me." 

Jason laughs softly and squeezes *Bruce*. "I am aroused by *you*, dear one."

"My. Body...?" 

"And your mind, and your personality, and your *soul*." 

The tang of Bruce's scent becomes *milder* — 

His aura *calms* — 

And Jason knows that Bruce is thinking again, and doing so very, very deeply, indeed. 

Jason doesn't kiss him again. "I tasted your soul when I tasted your blood." 

"You didn't —" 

"I need not take your blood into my *mouth* in order to taste it, dear one," Jason says, and smiles again. "Though the tasting becomes rather less *satisfying* when I *don't*." 

Bruce takes a *shuddering* breath — "It's... sexual." 

"Always." 

"Even. Even when you're taking the blood of someone you. Dislike." 

"Always," Jason says again. "Though I do try not to encourage that sort of thing in myself —" 

"Do you?" 

Jason takes his own somewhat ragged breath — and gives himself a moment to dream of Martha's wicked smiles — 

*Knowing* smiles — 

*Jason* smiles rather more widely. "Sometimes." 

"But not... always." 

"No, dear one."

Bruce squeezes Jason's thighs again — and strokes them. It's a *short* stroke, abortive and almost more *convulsive* than sexual — 

It still makes Jason harder... and he knows Bruce can feel that against the small of his back. "Bruce..." 

"I don't. I'm trying to help myself. I don't know if I can... think."

Jason laughs quietly. "I have somewhat bad news for you, I'm afraid." 

"Yes. Yes?" 

Jason — doesn't kiss him again. "Arousal is going to make it difficult — often *extremely* difficult — for you to think clearly until you are at *least* in your *late* twenties." 

Bruce groans and *shudders*. 

"It's all right, dear one —" 

"Does that — Mother said you were... frozen. At age twenty-one." 

Jason blinks — "Well... yes —" 

"Are you finding it difficult to think clearly, as well?" 

Well... "In truth, dear one, I'm expending *most* of my *intellectual* energies *on* you, your sexuality, and all the questions which linger within and *around* you and your sexuality." 

"Oh. I." Bruce touches his upper lip with his tongue. "It... complements your... arousal." 

"Just so. Much of the rest of me is given over to positively wallowing in this moment. In the feel of you in my arms. The scent of you in my nose. The *taste* of you —" 

"I've. The Bat showed me... bloodletting." 

Hmm. "Consensual?" 

Bruce shudders — and reaches up to grip Jason's *arms*. 

"Would you like for me to release you —" 

"No! *Please*!" 

"Shh, it's all right," Jason says, and squeezes Bruce again. "I only suggested it —" 

"Because. Because I touched you incorrectly —" 

"*Not* incorrectly, dear one. *Surprisingly*." 

Bruce inhales raggedly — 

*Pants* — 

And strokes Jason's forearms, and the backs of his hands, and his forearms again — 

"Do you like that, dear one...?" 

"You. You're very lean." 

Jason laughs. "I always have been." 

"Mother said many of the most powerful and skilled knights of the middle ages were... compact." 

Jason laughs *harder*. "*Many* of the *fiercest* and most *feared* warriors were smaller — and *lighter* — than *you*, dear one." 

"That... is difficult to imagine." 

"Yes, I imagine *so*, considering —" 

"I've. Enjoyed the taste of blood. In the past." 

Jason narrows his eyes. And leans in enough to nuzzle Bruce's ear slowly, hotly, and *appreciatively*. "It's delicious, isn't it." 

Bruce pants *more* — "The Bat said... the Bat said that the mission wasn't for my enjoyment." 

Jason lets his expression *quirk* — 

"But. It also said that the evil must suffer." 

"*That* is true —" 

"It *also* said that the consumption of blood would lead me away from what I was supposed to be, that I was — that it could. I don't know. I don't know," Bruce says, and he is tense again. 

Jason... surrenders just a *bit* further and strokes Bruce's chest, and abdomen — 

"Oh — Jason..." 

"Shh. I believe we can agree that it isn't precisely *surprising* that a being which wished *your* suffering would *revel* in giving you *conflicting* messages?" 

"It never — I never knew it wanted my suffering, Jason —" 

"Never...?" 

Bruce is silent save for his deep, hungry breaths. 

Jason tugs at Bruce's tie without thinking — 

And Bruce immediately begins to loosen it. He — 

"You do *not* need to do that for *my* tastes, dear one —" 

"I dislike neckties... a great deal," Bruce says, and laughs once — a soft, wry breath which makes him sound thirty years older than he should. "They always make me feel... very conscious of how erect my penis is." 

Jason *coughs* — 

"Unless — do you not want me to take my clothes off, Jason?" And there is a *hint* — and far too much of one — of the *physically* self-conscious boy who lives within Bruce.

That won't do, either, and so Jason lets his laugh be positively *ribald*. "Dear one. The *only* reason why I'm not encouraging you to remove *all* of your clothes *right* now is because your being *too* late for your dinner with Mr. Pennyworth could cause *both* of us some measure of difficulty." 

Bruce shivers and nearly *tears* off his tie — 

Jason takes it and sets it *aside*, leaning in to nuzzle Bruce's strong, pale throat — 

"Was that true, Jason?" 

"*Yes* —" 

"I mean — about my — all of my clothes?" 

Jason sighs — and reminds himself *again* that Bruce is no ordinary boy. He kisses Bruce's throat — 

Bruce moans and *shivers* — 

"A *part* of me, I *must* admit, would also like you to remain *somewhat* clothed so that I might retain a larger portion of my control." 

"You feel... you feel... out of control?" 

"I want to make love to you, my liege," Jason says, and *licks* Bruce's throat — 

"*Nnh* — please —" 

"I want to taste you *everywhere* —" 

"Oh — *oh* —" 

"I want to make you moan, and yell, and scream, and *come* —" 

"Are you — it." Bruce *pants* — 

"Tell me," Jason says, and licks Bruce's throat again. "*Please* tell me." 

"What. What would be *different* about your behavior if you lost control?" 

Jason laughs *hard*. "Well. You'd be *restrained* for a *start*..." 

Bruce moans *loudly* — 

"Do you like that? Did that nasty little creature give you a taste for —" 

"I knew — I mean. There were times when I asked it why it hurt me so much!" 

Jason — draws himself back *internally*. A *bit*. "What did it have to say for itself?" 

"It. It spoke of weakness. My weakness." Bruce shudders — 

"It had to... flay your weaknesses away, perhaps?" 

"Yes, and —" 

"It had to make you *stronger*." 

"*Yes*. I —" 

"*No*," Jason says, reaching up to cup Bruce's chin again and turning his head enough that they can *see* each other, albeit awkwardly. "You must set aside the things that *creature* told you, my liege." 

"Some of it was *true* —" 

"But even the *truths* it chose to share were designed — *deployed* — to *hurt* you." 

"Does that — that doesn't make them less *true* —" 

"No. It does not. It does, however, make the truths' source suspect in *every* way —" 

"Jason —" 

"*And* it makes it absolutely *vital* that you treat *every* piece of information you received from the creature like something from a ha'penny *broadsheet* — no. They're called *tabloids*, now, yes?" 

"I — I — yes, Jason —" 

"Do you *understand*?" 

Bruce — moans. "You're so very — *seductive*!" 

And that... was an accusation. And it must be treated as such. Jason kisses the corner of Bruce's mouth. "I belonged to you before you were ever born, my liege, but *you* have never belonged to *me*. *This* truth means that I *must* be seductive, that I must use the full *force* of my seductiveness to guide you to my *side*... lest I live *another* generation *incomplete*." 

And Bruce begins panting again — 

He swallows *twice* — 

"You were. You were incomplete with... Father." 

"I was incomplete *without* your father," Jason corrects, as gently and *firmly* as he can. "I will survive if I must live without *you*, as well... but I will not be happy." 

"You believe I could make you... happy?" 

Jason growls — "You already *have*." 

"I. I need." 

"Tell me —" 

But Bruce is moving in his arms, turning awkwardly to face Jason and moving onto his knees, cupping Jason's shoulders and staring into his *eyes* — "Please." 

"Tell me what you need and I will *give* it to you —" 

"Please don't lie to me, Jason, and — always tell me what — what to *say* —" 

"You must come to know your *own* mind —" 

"What to say to *make* you happy!" 

Jason *grunts* —

Bruce looks panicked and smells *desperate* — 

He's a *child* — 

Martha's child, Thomas's child, *Hezekiah's* child — across the centuries, beyond *death* — and he can give only one answer to that. 

"I'll teach you," Jason says, in the lowest, calmest voice he can *manage* — 

"Oh — yes, *please* —" 

"I'll teach you — you'll never doubt with *me* — *nnh* —" 

And Bruce is clutching him, arms wrapped around Jason's neck and body pressed to his — 

Mouth pressed to Jason's cheek so *hard* — 

But the first kiss there is soft. Gentle. *Hesitant*. 

"Bruce..." 

"I don't — there were. When I tried to imagine kisses, the Bat would show me... a great deal of sodomy," Bruce *breathes* against his cheek. 

Jason *coughs*. "Well. There's nothing wrong with that on its *face* —" 

"Not. Not all of the sodomy involved penises, Jason," Bruce says, and kisses Jason's cheek again. 

"Oh... dear." 

"Some of the sodomy involved —" 

Jason kisses Bruce's mouth, which is far, far softer than it looks, and sweet, and warm, and *wet* — 

Jason cups Bruce's face and tilts it, *moves* it — 

Jason kisses Bruce *deeply* — 

Bruce groans and *shudders* — and clutches him more tightly, *nods* — 

And Jason doesn't bite him — 

And Jason doesn't *rend* his clothes — 

And Jason doesn't — no. He licks his way *out* of Bruce's mouth — 

"Mm — oh — oh, *please* —" 

"*Yes*," Jason says, and kisses his way back down to Bruce's throat, to his Adam's apple — 

"Jason —" 

Jason *sucks* Bruce's Adam's apple — 

And Bruce grunts and *grips* at the back of Jason's neck. Mm. 

Jason smiles and *nibbles* there for a moment — 

"Oh — *oh* —" 

"Do you like this...?" 

"Yes — but —" And Bruce groans again, clutches again, *shakes* — 

Jason sucks *hard* — for a moment. "Tell me, my liege..." 

Bruce *shudders* — 

Pants — 

Grips Jason's *shoulders* — and stiffens. 

Jason *forces* himself to breathe *evenly*. "Bruce, do you need me to touch you less *aggressively* sexually?" 

"I — please, I —" Bruce shakes his head and stares into Jason's eyes. "Would another kiss count as a less aggressively sexual touch?" 

And Jason opens his mouth — and then laughs. "Yes, I suppose my question *was* that unhelpful," he says, and kisses Bruce's mouth again — 

"Mm —" 

And again — 

"I can be —" 

And *again* — 

"Oh, Jason — Jason, I can be very dim —" 

And again, *harder*, longer, and Bruce's hair is soft between Jason's fingers, and Bruce's lips are soft against Jason's mouth, and Bruce's body — 

Jason growls into Bruce's mouth and urges the lurking shadows to move Bruce closer — 

To wrap Bruce *around* him — 

And Bruce immediately groans and *bucks*, licking at Jason's tongue with inexpert and *heartfelt* passion — 

"I'll teach you *everything*," Jason slurs — 

"Will you — I believe I'd like to suckle your penis," Bruce says, and kisses Jason's lower lip, and upper lip — "May I?" 

And Jason would dearly love to have a thought in his head. 

Any thought whatsoever. 

Any — "Please open your trousers for me, my liege." All right, that was less a thought than a verbal *twitch* of his *cock*, but — 

But Bruce is moaning against Jason's *chin* as he fumbles with his belt — 

Bruce is *licking* Jason's chin — 

Bruce is *yanking* at his belt and *whimpering* — "I — I can't seem to —" 

"Shh, it's all right," Jason says, and kisses Bruce again, kisses him — it's not a soft kiss, at all. It's not a *careful* kiss, either — 

It's a kiss designed to pull Bruce's focus away from what Jason is doing with his hands — namely: using them to push *Bruce's* hands down to the floor so he can open Bruce's belt — 

And his trousers — 

The rush of body heat makes Jason *growl* again, though it could just as easily be the scent of Bruce's pre-come, Bruce's sweat combined with *musk*, and Jason knows he should slow down, that he should *speak* to the boy — 

The Wayne — 

His *liege* — 

And he's growling again just that quickly, pushing Bruce down onto his back gently, *gently* — 

"Jason —" 

Kissing Bruce again, making *love* to Bruce's mouth as he moans, as he arches, offers himself, and Jason *doesn't* tear, *doesn't* bite, *doesn't* rip the clothes *off* — 

It would be *strange* for Bruce to change his clothes for dinner — or would it? The Waynes have traveled rather up and down the scale of *acquired* 'class' over the centuries — *Hezekiah* wasn't above bouncing the maids on his cock *while* he ate, whether or *not* there was company — in terms of how much they *subscribe* to the modern conceptions of it...

These are *not* the days of Hezekiah, but they also aren't the days of *Jonah*, who would have berated Bruce for allowing Jason to use his first *name*. It — 

The question *stops* him for a moment — mentally, *not* physically — as a part of Jason struggles to find any excuse to give in further, deeper, *more* — 

To do more than scrape his teeth along the column of Bruce's throat — 

To do more than *tug* open the buttons of his *shirt* — 

"Yes — oh, *yes*!" And Bruce's arms are splayed like a sacrifice's — 

His legs should be, too. His — 

And Jason hears himself growl again as he forces himself to *stop* unbuttoning Bruce's shirt — 

As he *rewards* himself by *diving* down to Bruce's groin, nuzzling him through his simple briefs — 

And the scent is — 

Is — 

Jason moans and doesn't tell Bruce about Nathaniel, about *Nate* and his tricks and games and endless *cheating* — 

He doesn't tell Bruce about the laugh in his eyes that was always so *infectious* — and the smirk on his lips that always demanded *just* this: 

Jason *claws* Bruce's briefs to *shreds* — 

"*Jason*!" 

No blood, no scratches, no *wounds*, and that is *all* to the good, and he will *remember* that — "I am yours," Jason says, and kisses the slick, shining tip of Bruce's cock — 

"Please — oh — oh, I don't know what I want!" 

And Jason *pants* for the taste, for the memories of doing this for Waynes past, for the time *lost* — 

He could've been doing this *years* ago —

But perhaps he shouldn't be thinking of that. *Quite*. He laughs at himself and kisses Bruce's cock again — 

"Jason — oh — *oh* —" 

Again and *again* — 

"I want! I want to kiss *you*!" 

"Did you think I wouldn't let you...?" And Jason laughs again and *licks* Bruce's cock, licks around and around the head of it and watches as the foreskin slips back over the shaft —

"I — I..." 

"You're such a *beautiful* boy..." 

"My — do you find my *penis* attractive?" 

"Very *much* so, my liege," Jason says, pushing Bruce's cock the *slight* distance it takes to make it lie flat against his abdomen and sucking *hard* kisses — 

More and *more* kisses — 

"Your cock is *lovely* — and delicious..." 

"Oh — nnh — *nnh* — *Jason*!" 

"Your cock is *thick* for a boy your age, my liege," Jason says and kisses and kisses and *kisses* along the underside. And then he pulls back and licks his lips — 

And shivers for the *slickness* — 

For how long it's *been* — but he owes his liege much more. He wraps his right hand around Bruce's cock — 

"Yes — oh, your hand is so *hard*!" 

"That it *is*," Jason says, and squeezes *carefully* —

"Please, *yes*!" 

Harder, then — 

And Bruce groans *while* staring at him with wonder, pleasure, *surprised* happiness — 

And Jason can't help but smile. "Your *cock*, my liege, would've stricken *my* thirteen-year-old self with *terrible* envy..." 

Bruce blinks. "Oh. But —" 

"Not to even mention my *fourteen*-year-old self..." 

Bruce *blushes* — 

"My *fifteen*-year-old self had a bit more to *say* for himself... as it *were*..." 

"Oh — Jason —" And Bruce cuts himself off with a breathless laugh which still sounds somewhat *scolding* — 

"Shh," Jason says, and squeezes Bruce's cock while stroking hard, stroking *fast* — 

"*Hnh* — I — *oh*!" 

"Yes...?" 

Bruce shudders all *over* — and nods, wide-eyed and frantic and *young*. 

"This is... *close* to how you touch yourself?" 

Bruce opens his mouth — and groans *loudly*, frowning just as if he honestly *believed* words would come out. 

"Oh, dear one..." Jason licks his *teeth*. "I suspect my smile appears more than a *little* predatory..." 

Bruce shudders *harder* — 

"There are so *many* things I want to try with you, my liege. So many ways I wish to give you *pleasure*." 

Bruce opens his mouth *again* — and whimpers. 

And whimpers again — 

And squeezes his *eyes* shut as he begins to *buck* into Jason's fist, over and over — 

Faster and *faster* — 

"Oh — so beautiful. I am honoured by your trust, my liege —" 

Bruce cries out, loud and *sharp* as his body goes *rigid* — 

"And I am *privileged*, as *well*," Jason says, diving in once more to take the whole of Bruce's cock into his mouth — 

Bruce shouts in obvious *shock* — 

And Jason sends a shadow to gag him gently, softly, and *hopefully* inspiringly as he swallows every last *drop* of Bruce's come. 

Every — mmmm... 

But he always forgets this *edge* of sweetness. The helpless and futile *pull* of a truly virginal soul *against* Jason's *own* pull. 

Jason's *power* — 

But he need not bind Bruce any more than he *is* bound, and he *will* not. He will simply swallow, and lap, and mouth wetly and slowly and *nastily* while Bruce shakes under his shadows and hands. 

Like this, Jason can feel the vibrations of every last one of Bruce's moans. 

Like *this*, Jason can feel the shock in Bruce's soul, the stretch of his aura, the *shift* from moment to moment as the *particular* sweetness of his virginity fades — 

And fades — 

And fades to something... else. Something with all the musk of Bruce's scent. Something with all the secrets of a childhood spent *possessed*. Something with intellect, curiosity and, *perhaps*, the sort of innocence that need not fade, at all.

And something, of course, with all the potential that comes of having a vassal named *Blood*. 

Jason sucks *firmly* on Bruce's thick and lovely little cock — 

Bruce stiffens and reaches for him as his still-hard cock twitches and *spasms* — 

And Jason pulls off with a smile, slow and wide and — hopefully — precisely as appreciative as he feels. "My liege. What is your pleasure?" And Jason gestures the shadow from Bruce's mouth — 

And Bruce gapes at him. 

Jason smiles wider. "Shall I give you a moment...?" 

Bruce blushes *deeply* as he sits up on his elbows. "I — I'm very sorry. I still don't feel very *intelligent*, Jason." 

Oh — no. Jason strokes Bruce's thighs. "I am only teasing, dear one. *Believe* me when I say that there are *vanishingly* few human males capable of critical thought in the moments directly following an orgasm. *Especially* if said orgasm was their *first* orgasm in *company*," Jason says, and raises an eyebrow. 

"But... it gets better with time?" 

Jason snorts. "*Only* if one begins having absolutely *awful* sex." 

"Hm. I don't think... that I want to do that," Bruce says, and smiles crookedly. Endearingly. *Beautifully*. 

"*Excellent* choice, my liege," Jason says, and bows his head slightly. "Of course..." 

"Yes, Jason?" 

"A *truly* worthy vassal always works to provide his liege with *everything* he needs at *all* times." And Jason pulls on a *lofty* expression — 

And Bruce coughs and splutters and coughs *more*, which is rather more than Jason thought the line was *worth*, but is still beautiful to watch. 

Jason strokes Bruce's thighs and waits for Bruce to regain control of himself and then, once he is calmed enough to merely *hum*... he raises an eyebrow again. 

"Oh — it's only... hmm." Bruce smiles while raising his *own* eyebrow. "I believe I must ask you *not* to make me imagine Alfred acting as my *procurer*, Jason." 

*Jason* gapes — 

And Bruce begins laughing again, low and sweet and *appreciatively* mocking. 

Well, then. "Bruce. Should your valet show *any* signs of knowing *how* to toss anyone off — and I am including *himself* in this metric — please do allow me to *sit* before informing me, as I am a very old man, and shocks like that can be *dangerous*." 

Bruce coughs *more* — "*Jason*!" 

And Jason laughs — a little — evilly. And winks. 

"I — Alfred *explained* masturbation to me, Jason." 

"Did you *need* the explanation, dear one...?" 

Bruce's smile is wry. "Considering the fact that I spent a very long time after becoming pubescent alternately being berated by the Bat for *thinking* about touching myself, being *taunted* by the Bat with pornographic and pornographically violent imagery —" 

"Oh... dear." 

"— and having increasingly *copious* nocturnal emissions..." Bruce's smile gains ruefulness, as well. "Alfred's explanations — and willingness to answer my painful, stammering, desperate questions — were exceedingly helpful." 

Jason sighs and inclines his head once more. "As you say. I do apologize for not having been here to teach you, myself." 

Bruce raises an eyebrow — but doesn't say anything. 

"Yes? My regret seems strange to you?" 

"Mother always said you were a deeply caring man..." 

"*That* seems strange to you, my liege?" 

Bruce's expression, if anything, becomes even *more* rueful. "What seems strange..." He shakes his head. "I've only just started gaining some degree of confidence in my ability to hold a conversation with someone without *humiliating* myself, Jason. And that confidence slips — rightly, I believe — very *often*." 

Jason lets his expression quirk *deeply*. 

"Yes, Jason?" 

"Bruce..." Jason touches his tongue to his upper lip — 

Gives himself a moment to note the way Bruce's focus does *not* slip — 

Well, he'll try harder next time. "Bruce. Dear one. While there *are* some — many — adults who expect the young and *actively* traumatized to be able to hold their own in conversation at all times, in all ways, with all *people* —" 

"I —" 

"I am *not* one of them. Nor do I expect to *become* one of them. Nor should *you* become one of them," Jason says, and raises an eyebrow *pointedly*. 

Bruce frowns. "You... feel it is... incorrect?" 

"*Oh*, yes. The fact that you are both deeply intelligent *and* privileged enough to be able to use that intelligence to make yourself a well-read and intellectually well-*rounded* person does *not* change the fact that you are a *boy*. I do not *expect* you to meet me on the same levels that an adult would, and I will not *punish* you if you fail to do so. Nor will I be so much as *disappointed* if you fail to do so. Anyone who *would* do — or feel — either of those things is something rather *worse* than incorrect." 

And Bruce... stares at him for a long, silent moment. 

Jason settles his palms flat on his own thighs and waits. 

"It... it often seemed as though..." Bruce swallows and turns away...

And Jason would be a fool if he didn't know that Bruce was thinking of his parents. Thomas, to be sure — the man had no interest whatsoever in politics, but he had a rather broad degree of natural charm and an ability to *express* himself from a *young* age — but Martha, as well. 

Martha...

She had not been above growing exasperated — however fondly so — with her young, endlessly questioning, confused and *confusing* son. 

She had not been above turning *away* from Bruce; at first to direct him to Jason — 

("Jason, darling, tell Bruce what he needs to know, will you?" 

"Mais bien sûr, chérie...") 

But then, after she'd decided Jason's presence had to be a *secret* — 

("Oh, boychik, I..." 

"Yes, Mother?") 

And Martha would smile wryly and ruefully at once, reaching into the immaterial — and functionally *invisible* — stuff of Jason for something she had decided he could not *give* — 

And then she would sigh, beckon Bruce close, and kiss his cheek — 

Or his forehead — 

Or his soft little mouth —

Or all of the *above* — 

And then she would sit back, gathering her robe — or her house dress, or her peignoir, or the covers, or whatever was *handy* — to her body in gestures of obvious dismissal.

("Mother?" 

"We'll have to revisit this topic later, boychik." 

"Oh. Are you tired, Mother?" 

"Is that... hm. Yes. Yes, I believe I *am* tired, Bruce.") 

And she would smile at her beautiful son with still *more* dismissal —

Because there were times — many, many times — when Bruce's questions were simply too much for her. When *Bruce* was too much for her, and for her ability to pull on the roles and strictures of motherhood. 

Bruce would leave at those times, and Martha would turn to *him* — 

Always to *him* — 

And Jason would think of nothing and no one but her. 

It had not seemed wrong before. Not *terribly* so, and — 

And he is complicit in the wounding of this child. There is *no* way around that, and he will stop trying to *find* a way. Instead, he moves close once more, straddling Bruce's hips and stroking his lean chest, his tense shoulders, the parts of his cheeks which are still downy, the parts of his chin which have clearly been *shaved* — 

And Bruce shivers and moans softly, relaxing far more quickly than *Jason* deserves. 

"Thank you for *that*, my liege." 

Bruce blinks. "I — what? What did I do?" 

Jason smiles. "You relaxed under my hands. I am *very* grateful for that." 

"But *I* should be — and I *am* grateful —" 

"Would you not be grateful to a loved one for giving you their comfort? Their pleasure?" 

Bruce shivers — and gazes up at him with wide, beautiful eyes. "I. I've remembered that I want to suckle your penis."

"Well. *I've* remembered that I desperately want to let you do just that. But —" 

"No, please, don't — I don't. I don't want there to be a 'but' at the end of that sentence." 

Jason takes a *deep* breath — rising arousal and, perhaps, a little *panic*. He shakes his head *gently* and smiles. "My liege, my body is yours for the *asking* —" 

Bruce grunts — 

"For the *taking*, truly. *But*, there is one thing I must tell you *first*. All right?" 

Bruce *pants* — and looks Jason over *greedily*. And not slowly, at all. 

"Oh... dear one. Did you like that thought? Are you a possessive boy?" 

"I don't think... I should be," Bruce says, and *starts* to frown — 

Until Jason smiles and cups his handsome face with one hand. "Such things are meaningless in the grand scheme of things —" 

"Are they?" 

"*Oh*, yes. While we can — and *should* — modify and *modulate* our behaviors so that they do not cause our loved ones — and the good, in general — to suffer, we must also accept the *fact* that there is very, very little which can be done to alter our essential natures." 

"What —" 

"*And*? What little *can* be done is usually a *magnificently* bad idea to *try* to do." 

Bruce blinks. "Yes?" 

Jason inclines his head. "Guthlac of Mercia was a different boy — and man — than Jason Blood became. This was true even before Jason Blood had a *name*, my liege. Merging with Etrigan — and beginning our *entirely* futile war — altered both of us dramatically. It changed our abilities. It changed our outlooks. It changed our personalities. It changed our blood and our souls and our *magic*, and while I have reached a point where I would *not* take the chance to become Guthlac again — even if I could somehow do it safely and *cleanly* — while I have come to quite enjoy myself and nearly everything which makes *up* who I am... well. I would still never *wish* such an alteration on *anyone*. Not even an enemy. Not even an enemy I *would* wish a thousand years of *torture* on." 

Bruce inhales sharply. "I don't — is it truly so *terrible*?" 

Jason opens his mouth — and thinks of Nathaniel again, of the nightmarish sights he described — when he was capable *of* describing the things which came to his terribly altered vision, which wasn't often in the years after he'd been cursed — whenever he looked into mirrors, or just into the eyes of the people who loved him. 

And then he thinks of all the Waynes who followed Nathaniel, of all the different flavours and *meanings* of madness that Jason had been *forced* to learn about if only to find ways to *alleviate* them. 

Hezekiah's spells and sacrifices had guaranteed the Waynes power, wealth, and all the numinous touches of influence they could ever *desire*, but it could do *nothing* to protect them from Nathaniel's *mistakes*. From a madness passed down from blood to blood. From soul to *soul*. Still...

"Jason?" 

"Do you know much of Nathaniel Wayne?" 

Bruce shakes his head. "I — I'm familiar with the name, of course, and I remember what you've said, but... I believe he was alive in the seventeenth century? There wasn't very much information about him in the family biographies." 

Jason lets his expression be *precisely* as pained as it wishes to be. "As I've said, it was he who brought the curse of madness down on your family. When..." Jason shakes his head. "When he first began telling me about what his mind showed him instead of his own dear, familiar face when he gazed into mirrors, when he described the *endless* nightmares and hallucinations and everything *else*... all I could think about was what it had been like to rise from Morgan's altar as an entirely new person, with an entirely *different* new person *inside* me, clawing to get *free*. *Nathaniel* was never possessed — though many have *mistaken* schizophrenia for demonic possession in the past — but..." Jason *laughs* with pain and strokes Bruce's mouth with his thumb. "Perhaps that particular horror touches me more deeply than it would touch you. You have spent nearly half of your existence... well."

"Oh. Oh, I didn't — I apologize for being flip —" 

"You were nothing of the kind." 

"But —" 

"You. Were nothing. Of the kind," Jason says, and *presses* on Bruce's mouth — 

And watches *heat* grow behind Bruce's eyes just as if Jason had been speaking of *nothing* but sex for the past five minutes. Well. 

Jason was thirteen once, too. 

And seven hundred and thirteen, for that matter. 

"Bruce... I did have *one* important thing to tell you," Jason says, and tugs his thumb away from Bruce's mouth — 

Bruce parts his thin, soft lips — "I'm listening, Jason." 

"*Are* you?" 

"I... am definitely listening to..." Bruce swallows. "I find your accent very arousing." 

And, certainly, Bruce's cock is *quite* hard again. Which — Jason licks his lips — 

"I find. I find that very arousing, too." 

"Oh, yes? I promise to do it *all* the time. But first: your parents loved you. Your parents loved you *very* much, and were proud of you, and *enjoyed* your company." 

"I —" 

"They were, however, not at *all* suited to *being* parents — not either of them — for *many* reasons. *Both* of them were *fully* aware of, I would say, at *least* ninety percent of those reasons. *Neither* of them had *any* intention of reproducing before they were at *least* in their *late* thirties — they had rather vague ideas of becoming more parental people by then — but Jonah Wayne and Edward Kane insisted that they produce an heir before then." And Jason raises an eyebrow. 

Bruce blinks *rapidly* — and then stops and nods. "Mother did say that my grandfathers were... insistent about the matter." 

"Did she also say that they were refusing to surrender control of the businesses and fortunes?" 

"Yes, Jason. I... hm." 

"Yes?" 

"It... has only just occurred to me that my grandfathers, for all intents and purposes, purchased my existence from my parents." 

Jason smiles ruefully. "There is that," he says, and cups Bruce's face. "Your grandfathers were perfectly worthless human beings. Your *parents* were not. They loved you. They would be *vastly* proud of how intelligent you are, and how kind you are, and how witty, and warm, and *brave* you are..." Jason smiles more broadly. "Martha would *revel* in your beauty, inside and out." 

"Oh. I —"

"Shh. The important thing is this, my liege: Your parents, as exceptional and *singular* as they were, were not *perfect*. Especially in terms of their ability to raise a child. *One* of the mistakes they made with you was in allowing you to believe that there was something fundamentally wrong with you when you could not hold your own in conversation with them at the age of *eight*." 

"They — they never *punished* me —" 

"But they turned away from you, yes? They *foisted* you onto *others*." 

Bruce — swallows. And does not say a word. 

Jason inclines his head. "This was a mistake on their part, my liege. A *failing*. A failing I allowed to continue when I was in your mother's presence — and for that you have my abject and *absolute* apologies. There was nothing wrong with you then, and there *is* nothing wrong with you *now* —" 

"You said. That I would grow to be... mad." 

Jason takes a breath — and smiles ruefully. "You almost certainly already are in *some* way," he says, cupping Bruce's face with both hands and stroking, *petting* — 

"Jason —" 

"Shh. All of my lovers are mad, my liege." 

"W-what?" 

"I can touch no one else," Jason says, finishes the work of unbuttoning Bruce's dull little shirt. "Not safely." 

"Is this. Is this safe?" 

Jason smiles and strokes Bruce's nipples with his thumbs — 

Bruce grunts and gasps — 

"It is for you..." 

"But — not for you?" 

"My life is yours. My soul is yours. My body is yours. My *heart* is yours —" 

"No —" 

"There is no safety for one such as me, my liege." 

"No, I — I — you *have* to be safe —" 

"Shh. Safety — in this respect — is another word for *death*," Jason says, and *pinches* Bruce's nipples — carefully. 

Bruce moans and shakes his head, moans more — and *grips* Jason's hands. "Please. Please, I must understand this," he says, and his eyes are wide and — desperate in the *wrong* ways. 

Jason inclines his head. "Magic-users, as we grow more powerful, tend to bend and warp the many fabrics of reality around us. *While* attracting beings which exist — or can exist — on planes of reality far, far different from this one. *While* causing events and moments which are, quite simply, *difficult* for the truly sane to accept. Sanity, in its purest forms, is something of *deep* inflexibility. To be perfectly-suited for life on *one* plane of existence is to be *poorly*-suited for life on many, many, *many* *other* planes of existence — and for *encountering* the sorts of things which *occur* on those other planes of existence. Do you understand so far?" 

"Yes, I believe so. An integral piece to one jigsaw puzzle is, by definition, a poor fit for an entirely different jigsaw puzzle." 

"Just so. Magic-users, by definition, exist *beyond*... jigsaw puzzles. We fit everywhere and nowhere at once, and, again as we grow more powerful, we gain the ability to exist — and exist comfortably — on many planes of existence. For some of us, it's less a matter of comfort than one of *necessity*. I have *had* to travel to many *dozens* of different realities over the centuries, and all of those realities — those *universes* — have left their touch on me. On my *soul*. Theoretically, I could wall myself up and keep my corrupted soul from touching anyone else — and hurting them —" 

"How — *how* would it hurt them? Simply by exposure to the differences?" 

"Does it seem so strange, dear one?" Jason smiles. "I'm not at *all* surprised... considering," he says, and raises an eyebrow. 

"Oh — but. It's strange that *I* would consider it strange? *Why*? It doesn't — why wouldn't anyone want to know about alternate universes, and — and — are the physical laws different? The laws of thermodynamics?" 

"Sometimes." 

"*Oh* —" 

"But," Jason says, and raises two fingers. "You must consider this, dear one. There are universes where humanity does not exist. Where the continents of the Earth are shaped entirely differently. Where the Earth herself has, through one fit of pique or another, murdered every last *one* of her children —" 

"You speak of the earth as —" 

"She is a goddess, and a *very* old one. I tend to find the *vast* majority of gods in *immediate* need of *summary* execution — or at least *lengthy* bouts of torture followed by banishment to the *lonelier* dimensions — but when it comes to the All-Mother — as many refer to her — I try to show at least a modicum of respect." 

"Because she's more worthy than the other gods?" 

Jason sits back on his heels and spreads his hands. "There is that. She is, in *general*, far, far less of an *arsehole* than most," Jason says, and smiles wryly. "She's also where I tend to *live*."

Bruce blinks — and pales. "I... she... oh. Oh." 

"Yes, *do* think about the fact that the gods — and every other kind of supernatural being — truly are *right* there breathing down your lovely neck far more often than they aren't. The sane — though perhaps I should speak of them as those whose souls lack affinity for magic and the infinite in general — do *not* tend to do especially well with realizations like the one *you* just had, dear one." 

"What do they... *how* do they integrate the knowledge?" 

"Put simply? They *don't*. They push the knowledge aside, in one way or another, telling themselves that they aren't *truly* walking on the flesh of a goddess when they walk the Earth. Telling themselves that when Hippolyta calls on Athena to strengthen her limbs for one battle or another with the rest of the Justice Society, that she's simply speaking in *metaphor*. Telling themselves that, when they call on the gods — or the demigods — in one half-obscene oath or another, no one is truly listening. That they are — only — speaking with particular *emphasis*. They do all of these things — and more, and worse — and then, when they are faced with the truth — when, as an example, they come to live cheek-by-jowl with one such as *me*... well, they do not tend to do very well, at all, my liege." 

Bruce nods thoughtfully. "It seems... very large." 

"Yes?" 

"I — it seems... basic. *Foundational*." 

"Quite literally so." 

Bruce hums a laugh and looks at him with pleasure — perhaps for the pun. 

Jason smiles and strokes a path down Bruce's chest to his navel. "As an aside... I am vastly enjoying simply *speaking* with you." 

And *that* makes Bruce smile at him brightly, *broadly*. He looks at once like an advertisement for some hyper-idealized Christmas morning and like an advertisement for a film featuring some *decidedly* psychotic — and cannibalistic — murderer. 

It is, by far, the most endearing thing Jason has seen in decades — *including* Martha's adorably weak attempts to be polite to him on the day they'd first met in the few moments *after* the gin-and-marijuana-haze had worn off enough that she realized how *dangerous* he was... and before he'd managed to make himself clear that 'polite' was the *very* last thing he wanted from her. Bruce... "You're beautiful, my liege." 

"You — I —" And Bruce *blinks* endearingly — "Oh. I haven't — I find you very attractive, Jason —" 

"I had my suspicions about that," Jason says, and winks. 

Bruce blushes *deeply*. "I — I mean —" 

"I know what you mean. I do *not* require your seduction, Bruce." 

Bruce stares at him for a long moment — and studies him for a longer one. 

"Yes...?" 

"Did Mother seduce you?" 

Jason raises an eyebrow. "I seduced her. And rather had to put my *back* into it —" 

"Did she — did she *appreciate* you?" 

Oh... Jason cups Bruce's waist and squeezes. "She was my love, dear one. I was not hers —" 

"*Oh* — *no* —" 

"*But*. I was her closest friend, and her confidant, and the man she allowed to pleasure her *mindless* on a *regular* basis," Jason says, and raises an eyebrow again. 

Bruce blinks rapidly — 

Blushes — 

Blushes more *deeply* — 

"Yes...?" 

"I believe." Bruce licks his lips — wetting the *whole* of them this time. 

Jason raises his eyebrow higher — 

"You. You use... vulgar language." 

"*All* the time. Though you must recall that many of the words and phrases which *you* were raised to consider vulgar were simply another part of everyday speech at various other points in the past millennium. And...?" 

"And. And many of the words and phrases which I consider to be everyday speech have been considered vulgar at other points in time?" 

"Oh, yes. But you were saying?" 

Bruce licks his lips *again* — "I believe you would have used... a different word." 

"Yes?" 

"When. You were talking about pleasuring. Mother." 

Well. Jason smiles just a *bit*... hungrily. "There are times when I can be *polite*, my liege." 

"I. Do I. Have I been... asking..." Bruce frowns *deeply* — 

Has he been asking... too many questions about his mother? *Sex* with his mother? How *precisely* to define that particular metric? "Oh, no, dear one, not that," Jason says, and *chafes* Bruce's chest and abdomen just a bit — 

"Oh — I. Your hands are *wonderful*." 

"Thank you *very* much. But tell me —" 

"I want to know more about." Bruce swallows with an audible click and *shudders*. "I don't think it's appropriate to have sexual relationships with. With several generations of one. Family." 

Jason tilts his head to the side. "Why not?" 

"It's — I." Bruce frowns at him *incredulously*, which — 

Jason laughs hard and licks his *teeth*. "My liege. I am your vassal. I am your knight of blood and fire and shadow and *death*. I am your personal *witch*. I am *also*... a pervert." 

Bruce blinks. "I. Hm." 

"By which I mean: I am *perverse*, sexually and otherwise. While there *are* some dimensions where every last one of my *kinks* is legal... they tend to be absolutely *horrifying* places which I do my *level* best to *avoid* visiting." 

Bruce stares at him. 

"By which I mean: I am *fully* aware of the incestuous undertones, overtones, and *tones* to the fact that I have been shagging assorted members of your family since the sixteenth century, and they make it even *better* for me."

"They... do?" 

Jason inclines his head. "While I had every intention of obeying your father and *not* telling you the truth about my connection to your family until you were sixteen years old, I was still *vastly* enjoying the opportunities afforded me — through your mother's favour — to play a role in your early education —" 

"Had you. Had you begun fantasizing about a sexual relationship with me?" 

"When you were eight...?" Jason laughs again. "No, my liege. That tends to be just a *touch* too young for my tastes, as I have always preferred my lovers to be capable of *enjoying* themselves with me to the *utmost*. *That* sort of thing requires at least a *degree* of adolescence." Whether or not your *mother* would have continued limiting herself — no, that's a conversation for another day. "I enjoyed you, my liege. I enjoyed your questions, your thoughtful silences, your studying gazes... in the end, it took very little effort for that other Jason Blood to bring me back to your side." 

Bruce breathes deeply — 

*Pants*, truly — 

And Jason strokes his chest and abdomen, dips one thumb into his navel and then the other —

Tugs at the *inspiringly* thick hair *beneath* Bruce's navel — 

"Jason..." 

Looks *up* to meet his liege's eyes — "Yes...?" 

"Is perversion... can it be madness?" 

"Taken to a certain *degree*, yes," Jason says, and smiles. "Certainly it can be one of the more *fun* sorts." 

Bruce swallows and blushes again — "I've been very afraid of my — sexuality." 

"This is *entirely* reasonable, given what you've been... given," Jason says, and laughs quietly. "What you must remember: Adolescent boys become aroused for the very *slightest* stimuli —" 

"I do know that —" 

"— even if the stimuli are *only* intellectual or *emotional*." 

Bruce blinks rapidly. "I... oh." 

"Yes, my liege. Should you be moved to doubt me, simply consider the fact that many millions — and billions, and *trillions* — of people of all *sorts* of species have found themselves *moved* by pornography, even when that pornography was nothing more than a static image."

"I —" 

"Even when that pornography was nothing more than a static image of a single body part." 

"Hm." 

"*Even* when that pornography was nothing more than a static image of a single *clothed* body part." 

"That... that seems —" 

"Strange...?" 

Bruce opens his mouth — but then immediately blushes and closes it. 

Jason grins. "Do tell." 

"I... I was only thinking..." 

"Yes...?" 

And Bruce looks up at him from under his long eyelashes. "I was thinking of how I would feel if I saw a photograph of your eyes." 

Jason *narrows* his eyes —

And Bruce swallows again — and arches, slightly. 

"Oh... Bruce." 

"There is. There is so much... *intent* in your eyes —" 

"There *absolutely* is. Let me make you come again —" 

"Please — please, you were going to let me touch you — *oh* —" 

"Perhaps somewhat *precipitous* to have my shadows pull you up onto your knees —" 

"This — this position — do you find it suggestive? Attractive?" 

"*Both* of those. Though less of the former with *me* on my knees, as well," Jason says, and leans in to nip Bruce's lower lip — 

"I — is more suggestiveness better? I would think it would be —" 

"It can increase the intensity — at times." And Jason kisses Bruce hard, squeezes his strong wrists — 

Bruce groans and *shakes* — 

And Jason pulls back. "I don't think we need more intensity right now. Or do we?" 

Bruce stares into his eyes and pants — 

And pants — 

And *growls* in the moments before he twists his wrists free and reaches for Jason's trousers — 

"Oh, I like *that*..." 

"I'm not doing —" 

"Aggression. *Initiative*. It all speaks of *strong* desire, my liege." 

Bruce moans. "Yes. Yes, that's what I feel," Bruce says, and yanks the zipper off the track — "Oh — I'm sorry —" 

"Shh, I'll fix it later —" 

"You can do that, *too*?" 

"I'm *very* serious about my clothes, Bruce... when I choose to wear any, at all," Jason says, laughing and leaning in to lick Bruce's mouth, his cheek, his mouth again — 

"Oh. Oh, I want to see your body. All of your body —" 

"After dinner —" 

Bruce grunts. "Truly?" And his hands are shaking on the waistband of Jason's trousers, shaking as he pushes them down so *gently* — 

Jason grins again. "As I've said, my liege... my body is yours." 

Bruce pants and *groans*, pushing his hands up beneath Jason's shirt — "Do you — do you like the feel of silk on your skin —" 

"Always." 

"Silk has... a very high tensile strength —" 

Jason laughs. "It's *excellent* for restraining one's lovers, my liege." 

Bruce moans and *jerks* forward to kiss Jason hard, clumsily, passionately — 

Jason eases it and makes it less awkward — but *no* less hard — 

Bruce nods and moans more, *scratches* at Jason's abdomen — 

*Claws* at it, truly — 

*Growls* as he *shoves* his hands beneath Jason's opened trousers — and then he yanks himself back — "I'm touching your genitals!" 

Jason's smile *quirks*. "Are you surprised...?" 

"It's. Not how I expected to spend the evening," Bruce says, licking his lips and laughing breathlessly. 

Jason licks *his* lips — "I taste your saliva..." 

"Oh. Oh. I. A part of me wants to. Apologize." 

"Don't." 

"I don't — most of me wants to. I want to. Give you — more things to taste," Bruce says, and looks somewhat *stunned*, as if he hadn't quite expected those words to come out of his mouth. 

"I'd like that —" 

"I want you to give *me* —" Bruce moans and shuffles back on his knees, gripping Jason's trousers again and yanking them down around his thighs — "Oh..." 

"Yes, Bruce?" 

"I begin to see. How a penis can be attractive," he says, and scrubs his hands on his own thighs, rubs at his sternum as if he wishes to quiet his heart, scratches at his own abdomen — and the scent of apprehension is rising.

Jason will *not* allow that. "It aches, my liege." 

Bruce groans — "I — your." He looks up into Jason's eyes and searches him — and then immediately looks back down at Jason's cock and *pants*. 

Jason's cock *twitches* — 

"Oh. Oh... do you." And Bruce swallows again, clenches his hands into *tight* fists — 

"Please," Jason says, and rests *his* hands palm up on his thighs. 

Bruce moans. "I want." Another swallow — and Bruce shakes his head and looks *up* again — 

Jason lets Bruce see his hunger. His *lust* — 

His cock twitches again — 

And *again* — 

And Bruce grips at his own hard, leaking cock with desperate force, groaning and — "I don't — I'm very. Apprehensive." 

That much is clear, but — "I cannot hurt you, my liege. I —" 

"I — that's not. The problem. I want to please you, Jason. I want to. I want to taste you... very badly," Bruce says, and the flush under his skin is dark, *heavy* — "I don't... want to do it wrong." 

Jason blinks — and reminds himself *again* that Bruce is Thomas's son, too. *Thomas*, who would've at least *considered* scripting his conversations with absolutely *everyone* in his life — family or stranger, adult or *toddler* — if it had been at all *feasible*. He takes a breath, and inclines his head. "I will guide you, my liege." 

Bruce *pants* — and smiles brilliantly again. *Dementedly* — 

Jason smiles *back*, letting *himself* pant — 

"And. I can. I can have you?" 

Jason tilts his head back, baring his throat even as he arches his hips forward just *so*. "You already do, my liege." 

"I. I." And Bruce growls and *moves* — and his speed is impressive, inspiring, *violent* as he bites a kiss to Jason's throat — 

"Nnh —" 

And another to Jason's collarbone — 

Jason groans *happily*. "Bite as hard as you *like* —" 

Bruce growls *loudly* and *yanks* at Jason's shirt — 

"You're absolutely right, my liege, it does *not* belong here," Jason says, and gestures it away — 

And Bruce doesn't even *pause* for that little wonder before he's *scraping* his teeth along Jason's left pectoral — 

"Oh —" 

Sucking and *biting* Jason's nipple — 

"Bruce — Bruce, *yes* —" 

And Bruce groans and *grips* Jason by the obliques, palms sweating and hands *shaking* — 

He squeezes Jason *harder* — 

He *sucks* harder — 

And Jason feels himself flushing, feels himself twitching and leaking and *needing*, leaking pre-come *and* leaking shadows, and he wraps his arms around his liege — 

And Bruce *bites* him again — 

And Jason *bucks* — 

And Bruce pants — "I want. I *want*!" 

Jason leans down and kisses the top of Bruce's head *hard*. "Everything is *yours*, my liege. Just tell me —" 

"Did. Did you bite Mother this way." 

Well. He *had* said all the incest made it *better*. 

He'd said it out loud and with *conviction*. 

And — he'd meant every word. Jason *cups* the back of Bruce's head and pulls him in against his chest *hard* — 

"Oh —" 

"I would bite her nipple *just* like you bit mine — perhaps a little more gently the *first* few times..." 

And Bruce bites him slightly more gently, bites and moans, moans so *loudly*, and Jason feels himself sweating, hunts for the scents of Chanel no. 22 and that particular *tang* Martha's cunt would get *minutes* before her first orgasm of the night — no. 

No. 

Martha is dead, and a *portion* of her son's innocence belongs to him. 

Martha — 

She is *less* than a ghost in this moment, for all that she will — with Jason's help — please them both. 

Jason pulls Bruce *closer*, shuddering for the vibration of Bruce's moans, for the dampness of the sweat in Bruce's hair, for the thick and *rising* scent of his pre-come, his cock, his *need* — 

And Bruce groans a wordless *plea* — 

"I would hold her down, my liege —" 

Bruce *grunts* — 

Jason files that thought away for *later* — and smiles. "I would grip her long, beautiful hair in one hand —" 

Bruce sucks Jason's nipple *hard* — and tongues it, too — 

"Oh — and I would do that, too," Jason says, laughing and panting — 

Bruce groans and claws his way down Jason's abdomen again — 

"Yes — I — she didn't like that — but *I* *do* —" 

Bruce whimpers and *licks* Jason's chest, licks his way to Jason's *other* nipple — 

"I'd have my other hand in her *cunt*, my liege —" 

Bruce cries out and sucks, licks, bites and sucks more, licks past Jason's nipple to where he's scarred and bites hard enough to draw *blood* — 

And Jason hears himself growling like an animal, feels himself clawing at Bruce's *back* — but only with *human*-seeming fingernails — 

"I. Should I. Apologize." 

"Should I...?" 

"*No*!" 

"Then there is your answer, my liege. I am *yours*." 

Bruce groans and shudders — 

And shudders — 

And licks at the — healing, of course — wound on Jason's chest — 

And shudders *more* — 

"You taste. Wonderful," Bruce says, and his voice is low, wondering, *starved* — 

And Jason lets his head fall back as he pants, as he closes his eyes and dreams of *precisely* what he has. "I am pleased to have pleased you." 

Bruce moans and *clutches* him, obliques and *hip* — "Please. I need you."

"I'm yours —" 

"I need you. To lie down."

Jason smiles and *drops* onto his back, knowing the smile makes him look *drunk* — 

"You're happy." 

"Deliriously so, my liege. Can't you taste it in my blood?" And Jason spreads his legs and opens his eyes again — and growls for the sight of Bruce's red, red mouth. 

Bruce narrows his eyes. "I would like you to teach me to distinguish flavours. To." Bruce licks his lips and narrows his eyes *more* — "Jason." 

"Yes," Jason says, and cups his twitching cock in his left hand, reaching for Bruce with his right. 

"Jason..." 

"Yes." 

And Bruce growls again and all but *pounces* on him, squeezing Jason's right hand *viciously* hard — and not hesitating for even a moment before *slurping* in the head of Jason's cock — 

"Ah — Hecate's *cunt*, *yes* —" 

And Bruce *sucks* viciously hard — 

Jason groans and squeezes the base of his cock, urges himself to leak *right* on Bruce's tongue — 

Bruce *pants* around him — 

Pants hot and cool and *hot* again —

"Jason. *Jason*." And Bruce is — pleading again. 

Jason licks his lips and does his own panting. "Shall I guide you now, my liege?" 

"*Yes* —" 

"Or shall I tell you how your mother pleasured me this way?" 

Bruce grunts and claws Jason's *hips* — 

Jason *doesn't* fight the urge to buck, bumping Bruce's broad, wet mouth — 

*Urging* at it — 

"Please," Jason says, and he meets Bruce's eyes, and he pants more. "Please tell me." 

Bruce *groans* again — and shoves Jason's hand away, wrapping his own fist around the base of Jason's cock and squeezing — 

"Yes —" 

And squeezing *harder* — 

"Oh, *Bruce* —" 

"I want everything!"

"It's *yours*. But —" 

"G-guide me. Please guide me!" 

"Are you —" 

"*Do* it!" 

And Jason's cock spasms hard as he feels his stomach turn over, as he feels *himself* *wanting* to turn over — 

*Bend* over — 

And he will have that, too. "Take me into your mouth again, my liege. Take —" 

"How. How *much* of you." And Bruce is staring at Jason's cock so *hungrily* — 

Hungrily enough that it's tempting to tell him to use his *instincts* — but. "The head, at first — " And Jason gasps when Bruce does it, when he *has* the heat of Bruce's mouth again, the soft wetness, the careful, *careful* pressure of teeth even more carefully hidden behind lips — 

And Bruce *hums* — 

"Mm, I — was that for the taste...?" 

Bruce nods and squeezes the base of Jason's cock again — 

Squeezes *hard* — 

Hums *more* as Jason leaks on his tongue — 

"I don't —" Jason growls softly. "I do *not* taste like other men, my liege..." 

A *questioning* hum — 

And Jason laughs and shudders and *arches* — 

And Bruce *sucks* — 

"Oh, yes, that — that's *very* good, my liege —" And Jason moans and arches more — 

And Bruce *sucks* more — 

"And I — I'm just a *bit* spicier. And the large amount of time I spend actively on fire —" 

Another questioning noise — 

And Jason grunts and *pushes*, just a little — 

Bruce *growls* — 

"Oh, Bruce, I — mm. Do please always do *that* while my sensitive bits are between your teeth." 

Bruce blinks *rapidly* — 

And Jason laughs again and pushes — 

And pulls out *slightly* — 

And pushes *again* — "Do you like that...?" 

Bruce answers him with a nod and — a suckle, not a suck. *Just* like he'd asked for. It's wet, and soft, and heartfelt, and *loud*, and it goes on — 

And on — 

And *on* — 

And Jason is *aware* that he's groaning like a dying *animal* for it, but — no, he can be *educational*, *too*. "As an. Mm. Mn. As an *aside*, my liege, it is a *profoundly* rare and special flower of a person who will *not* appreciate — nnh —" 

A questioning hum *while* he's suckling — 

"Precisely — precisely what you're *doing*, my liege, I — you're making me lose my control," Jason says, and smiles with as much *focus* as he can bring to *bear* — 

And Bruce looks up to meet his eyes — 

"Do you want to be fucked, my liege? I'm rapidly losing the ability — the *control* — to do anything *but*... unless I leash myself." And Jason pushes a *little* deeper — 

And Bruce's mouth *falls* open around him — but he never stops *tonguing* at Jason's slit, never stops *seeking* for his pre-come, and — 

And Jason shudders and *groans*, considers *begging* — no. "Please," he says, open and shameless and *just* a little loud. "Please let me teach you how to take my cock, my liege."

Bruce *shudders* and stares — 

"*Please*," Jason says, and promises to interrogate himself about pressuring children, abusing children, desiring children, needing — 

Bruce sucks *hard* — 

Needing everything he can *have*, because Bruce is *his* in this moment, and Jason is groaning, *shaking* and groaning —

Bruce *nods* and shakes, gripping Jason's hips and tugging, trying to lift, trying to *pull* — and pull Jason deeper into his mouth. It — 

Questions are for another *time*. "*Thank* you, my liege," Jason says, and pushes *both* hands into Bruce's hair, holds Bruce's head *still* — "Breathe as evenly as you *can*."

Bruce pants and sucks — 

Pants and *groans* and sucks — 

Pants and struggles to *take* more of Jason's *cock* — 

"*No*, my liege, you must — you must be still for just — " And then they're growling together, because Jason's cock had twitched in Bruce's mouth, *leaked* more — 

Jason is gripping Bruce's hair much too *hard* — 

And perhaps control is too much to ask for from either of them. Jason licks his lips. "You *like* that taste..." 

Bruce moans and growls and *slurps* — 

Jason narrows his eyes and — doesn't buck. Doesn't *buck*. But. He starts to *push* again. To *work* his way in —

And out — 

And *in* — "I promise to come on your tongue, my liege —" 

Bruce grunts and *slams* his hips against the carpet — 

"Oh — oh, no, don't do *that*," Jason says, and slips his left leg under Bruce's body — 

And Bruce immediately *locks* his legs around Jason's, *grinds* his thick and hard and *slick* little cock against Jason's *shin* —

"I want that in my *mouth* —" 

Bruce thrusts *hard* and groans, bares his teeth *obviously* accidentally — 

Jason hisses — and hisses out shadows that coil around and *around* Bruce's body, that stroke and *tease* — 

Bruce *moans* an apology — 

"*Don't* cover your teeth again, my liege. Please give me — give me *pain*," Jason says, and *grins* at Bruce — 

At the *shock* in his eyes — and the *wondering* hunger as he *deliberately* pulls his lips back from his teeth — 

"Oh... and you are a *beautiful* beast, my liege. Please. *Hurt* me." 

And Bruce digs in *slightly* with his teeth — 

And Jason *pants* — "This," he says, and thrusts — 

Bruce shudders and *claws* at Jason's hips again — 

And again as Jason pulls out — 

And *again* as Jason thrusts — 

And thrusts — "You feel —" Jason groans a *laugh*. "It feels as though you're *scoring* my cock, my liege..." 

And Bruce's focus is sharp for that, *hard* even as he continues to grind against Jason's leg, *shoving* himself against Jason's leg — 

He's staring and studying and —

And *stabbing* at Jason's slit with his tongue, making Jason want to replace his cock with something much more generous, much more — 

But Jason is groaning again, thrusting — oh, but he's thrusting *faster*, *dragging* more and more of his cock against Bruce's teeth — 

Sharp and wonderful — 

*Cruel* — 

And he's *gripping* at Bruce's *head* — 

And he's making his own *fingers* cramp because the force his body *wants* to use is *bruising* — but he can't. 

Not for — "My — my *liege* —" 

Bruce growls and *stops* clawing Jason's hips, stroking Jason's abdomen and thighs, instead, seeming almost to search for something — 

"Please — please tell me — show me —" 

Bruce growls more *deeply* — 

Jason *thrusts* — 

And groans and *shudders* when bumping the back of Bruce's throat makes Bruce cough, *flinch* — 

"My *apologies* —" 

Bruce pulls back and pants, and he's flushed and sweating, slick and *hungry*, and his hair hangs lank and damp over his forehead — 

His eyes are *wild* — 

"You must — you must do that *again*!" 

"My liege —"

"The Bat showed me image after *image* of sodomy where — where the throat was *taken*. *Deeply*." 

Jason moans and claws at his *own* cock in an *utterly* futile and pointless attempt to get it to shut *up* — 

"Oh — is that —" 

"I *highly* recommend it, my liege, but I — please. Please take me once more. I'll *show* you." 

Another *demented* smile — 

Bruce's mouth is *swollen* — 

And there are just a *few* small spatters of Jason's blood beneath his lower lip. 

"Beautiful," Jason says, and *presents* his cock. "Please. Please let me show you *precisely* how much fun sodomy can be." 

"Do you think of it as — no, answer questions — another —" And Bruce is on him again just that quickly, turning Jason's laughter to gasps, to *moans* as he suckles again, *works* his human-hot mouth so *sweetly* — 

"My — my —" Jason shudders — "I can't *wait*," he says, and pushes deep slowly — *not* slowly, but *carefully* — 

And Bruce is groaning for it, *working* his cock against Jason's leg, *fucking* against — 

"When — when you feel me *approach* the back of your throat, you must *gulp* —" 

Bruce gulps *immediately* — 

"No, my liege —" 

Bruce nods *impatiently* — and reaches to cup Jason's *sac*. 

To caress and *squeeze* — "Oh — *yes*, but —" 

To squeeze *hard* — 

Jason growls and *thrusts* — 

And Bruce coughs, but doesn't move, coughs again as his eyes begin to tear, coughs more and fucks against Jason's leg faster, *harder* — 

"You like — you like the *distress*, my liege?" 

Bruce nods and groans and coughs and bares his *teeth* — 

Jason growls and *pumps* — 

And Bruce gulps perfectly, perfectly — 

Jason is *in* — and he's growling more, laughing and growling and grinding in the *precise* rhythm Bruce is using on his *leg*, and when Bruce realizes it — 

He *tries* to make a sound, mouth falling open around Jason's cock even as his body *shakes*. 

"I like the distress, *too*, my liege..." 

And Bruce looks up at him, meets his eyes with wonder and shock and lust and fear and *absolute* hunger. 

"No. I *love* it," Jason says, and slips his hands back into Bruce's hair, holds him still, so *still* — 

Bruce groans deep in his chest and *shakes* — 

"Try swallowing, my liege — oh." And Jason smiles and takes a shuddering breath as he thrusts — hard. 

And Bruce's mouth falls open in *shock* — 

"Once more, *please* —" 

And Bruce nods and does it — 

And Jason's cock *spasms* — 

And Bruce starts to *buck* against Jason's leg, losing his rhythm and gaining it again —

Losing it — 

*Losing* it — 

"Please, my liege, keep *swallowing*," Jason says, and starts to *fuck* — 

And they are messy together, rough and wild and getting wilder as Bruce claws and squeezes — 

As Jason grips and thrusts — 

As Bruce swallows and groans and grinds his *face* against Jason's groin — 

"I want — I want to fuck you for *hours*, my liege..." 

And Bruce's mouth falls open *again* — 

He shudders *violently* as he slams his cock against Jason again and *again* — 

And the scent of him in the air is high, the feel of him so tense, so ready — 

Jason growls and thrusts *deep* — 

And Bruce goes rigid and *groans* as he comes, spurting hot and perfect, so — 

"*Yes*, my liege," Jason says, and uses his shadows to force Bruce to keep grinding — 

Bruce groans *high* — 

And then Jason pulls out of Bruce's throat for *just* long enough to allow Bruce to gasp before fucking his way in — 

And in — 

And *in* with a growl that shakes them both, *moves* them both once Bruce *stops* groaning and bares his teeth again — 

"Nnh — *thank* you, my liege —" 

And Bruce spurts *again* — 

Coughs and grunts and *swallows* — 

And then *keeps* swallowing, forcing Jason to a rhythm *effortlessly*, and it's fast, it's hard, it's perfect — 

It's *Bruce*, and the fact that he never dreamed this while Martha was alive makes him feel like a fool, the fact that he'd wasted *time* — 

Never again. *Never* again, and he's growling without a single trace of humanity, sweating and desperate and *rank* as he all but climbs down Bruce's tight, hot, *perfect* throat — 

*Swelling* throat — 

Oh, but he's swallowing every time — 

And the *scrape* of his teeth is even hotter, even wilder — 

Tighter — 

But nothing could be better — 

But of course — "I want *everything* with you, my liege!" 

And Bruce is nodding against him, grinding his *face* — 

He'll *need* more air soon — 

But would he like losing consciousness? Jason groans and shudders, loses his rhythm *entirely* — 

He's all but *rutting* into a thirteen-year-old boy's *mouth* — 

And he can make it better for both of them. "I'm dreaming — dreaming of *fucking* you, my liege —" 

And Bruce is nodding, *clutching* — 

"Your mouth, your thighs, your *arse* — I'll teach you *every* sweet thing about sodomy, every filthy, wonderful — oh, your throat is so —" But he's groaning and twitching again — 

Again and *again* — 

*Needing* — "I want you to fuck *me*, my liege. I want you to bend me over and shove *deep* — *hnh* — and positively *torture* my balls *just* like that," Jason says, laughing and groaning and — 

And spasming and — 

"Oh, please — *please* —" 

And Bruce is *working* Jason's sac as Jason twists, thrusts, *fucks* — 

"I'll make you *love* it, my liege, I swear to you, I —" 

But then Bruce pushes two strong and curious and *bold* fingers back — 

Back — 

And Jason's snarling and arched, spurting, yanking his hands away from Bruce's head so he can claw *up* the rich, soft carpeting — 

Bruce hasn't even pushed *in*, but the pressure — 

The *promise* — 

The *feel* of those *learning* blue eyes on him, and yes, Jason can writhe for this, spurt *more* — 

And *remember* his promise and pull *back* — 

Just enough to spill all *over* Bruce's wicked little tongue. 

Oh, yes. 

Oh — 

Yes. Jason grins and sits up on his elbows, gesturing the shadow that had been lurking by Bruce's hips near. It is one of *his* shadows, and thus had not needed to be *ordered* to collect Bruce's come for him. Jason partakes at a leisurely pace... 

And, eventually, Bruce shivers and lets Jason's cock slip from between his red, red lips before kneeling up in a straddle of Jason's leg. He is panting and *staring* — but there is far less *shock* in him than happiness. 

Thrill.

*Accomplishment*. 

Jason *slurps* the last of the come from the shadow, and then licks his lips slowly. "My liege. What is your pleasure...?" 

Bruce raises an eyebrow. "Will that be the first thing you say to me after all of my orgasms, Jason?" 

"Certainly not. Just the ones I've had a hand in. Or a leg, as the case may be," Jason says, bending the leg in question *up* so he can rub and nudge at Bruce's admirably heavy and soft sac. 

Bruce blushes. "I felt somewhat like a... canine." 

Jason laughs just a *bit* wickedly. "We could *experiment* with giving your pretty little cock a knot..." 

"I." 

And Jason laughs *hard*. "Or we could save that for the *advanced* —" 

"Have you engaged in bestiality?" 

Jason opens his mouth — closes it and smiles. "Oh, yes." 

"*Really*?" 

"Oh. Yes," Jason says, and — allows himself to snicker. 

"But... I... *why*?" 

Jason licks his lips. "Point the first: When I was a young man — and for a *long* time after that — it was a risk tantamount to taking one's life in one's hands to drink the water more often than not. One drank ale — and wine when one could get it — and one drank them *copiously*." 

"You — I — hm. Go on."

Jason laughs more. "Point the second: Drinking alcoholic beverages copiously, when one is *already* a teenaged boy — i.e., an individual capable of becoming *desperately* randy and thus even *stupider* than he already was from being a drunken male teenager at the barest hint of a suggestion of a *tease* about sex..." And Jason raises an eyebrow. 

Bruce stares at him. 

And stares at him. 

And *continues* to stare — 

"No, my liege? This isn't sinking in even a *little*...?" 

"I. Am actively working to keep it. From sinking. In." 

Jason bites his lip. "Yes...?" 

"Yes." 

Jason hums. "Well. That's *entirely* fair, and I *promise* to never fill your belly with drink unless I *definitely* don't plan to take you to a petting zoo." 

"Oh — I — Jason." And Bruce looks positively *stricken* — 

So Jason only laughs *quietly*. 

Though he does do it for rather a while, and — well, he'll just save the lessons about earth-mages, lycanthropes, and other shifters for another time. 

Eventually, he can breathe *evenly* again, and so — "Let's get you tidied up for dinner, hmm?" 

"That. Would probably be for the best."


	4. The kind you don't bring home to Mother. I mean Alfred. I mean Mother.

As suspected, Alfred Pennyworth is correct enough — for certain child-psyche-damaging versions of same — that he chooses not to take his meals *with* Bruce. 

*This*... is more than enough reason to doll himself up in his shiniest *un-cursed* mail, dig around in his metaphysically dustiest pocket universes until he can find a sword that both looks impressive and is *also* not even a little bit cursed, and... ring the bell. 

Not the one at the *front* door — he *will* give Bruce *time* to decide whether or not he wishes the Wayne association with on-again, off-again vigilante sorcerer Jason Blood to be a public one — but the one at the perfectly neat — and usefully *broad* — service entrance. 

There are lights aimed to shine where he's standing, and they're switched on in under a minute. Jason makes sure to stand even straighter — and to repress his *smirk* at the thought of the picture he's making for Alfred Pennyworth, who has not seen him, at all, since a visit with Jarvis Pennyworth happened to coincide with one of Jason's *own* visits in...

Yes, that would've been March of nineteen sixty-three. 

How much Pennyworth *remembers* of him from that time... 

How much he was *told* about him by... 

But who *would* have told him? The California Waynes — who had rejected even the *possibility* of taking Bruce in and raising him as one of their own — had first emigrated from Scotland much, much later than Hezekiah, and had *thoroughly* divorced themselves from Hezekiah's line once they discovered the truth about the curse that Nathaniel had brought down upon them all. 

While Jason has played the occasional *mild* prank on the California Waynes at the request of one liege or another, it's been over two centuries since he's so much as been in the same *room* as one of them, and he would be deeply surprised if the stories about him were still told with the cachet of *truth*. 

Jarvis Pennyworth had done his level best to *avoid* having anything resembling a conversation with Jason over the years when they'd both moved through Wayne Manor regularly — and this was something Jason could never blame the man for, as his love for and loyalty to Thomas was... 

Well, it was *precisely* what *Jason* would have given the man, had he been given the chance *to* give it. 

To Jarvis, Jason was the very *worst* kind of servant, and for a man like that, there were few greater crimes. It... hm. 

He *could* have given his son decidedly biased reports about Jason...

Or Alfred could've gotten the same sort of thing from *Leslie* — 

Or... Lucius? 

Would Thomas have *confided* that much in Lucius? *Most* men who refer to another man as their 'right hand' confide *deeply* in the right hand in question. 

Most men are not — 

The door opens — finally — with smoothly decorous speed and not one single extraneous creak. Alfred Pennyworth — who is of an average height for this damnably tall age, lean, and painfully neat from the roots of his thinning black hair to the tips of his *ruthlessly* shined shoes — is back-lit by the undoubtedly perfectly-maintained lights from the kitchen... and utterly expressionless. 

Until he raises one *vicious* eyebrow. 

Jason grins helplessly. "Mr. Pennyworth. Allow me to introduce myself..." 

The expression does not shift by one *iota* — 

And Jason laughs quietly... and inclines his head. "My name is Jason Blood. You're going to be seeing a *lot* of me." 

*That* gets the eyebrow to drop — and the eyes themselves to narrow. Slightly. "Mr. Blood. I am, of course, aware of who you are —" 

"Yes...? Forgive my curiosity, Mr. Pennyworth, but I've been rather wracking my brain for the last little while trying to figure out who might have told you *what* about me *when*." 

Pennyworth purses his lips. Slightly. 

Jason raises his own eyebrow. Blandly. 

They stare at each other for a long, *long* moment of polite bloody-mindedness that Jason is tempted — *deeply* tempted — to let drag on until Pennyworth either breaks character or attempts to summarily dismiss him like a particularly *incompetent* tradesman — 

But Jason is *not* here to make an enemy. He inclines his head. "Of course, you need tell me nothing, but, as I've said, you *will* be seeing a lot of me from now on... and it would be rather helpful to know how much *you* know about *why*." 

The purse of Pennyworth's lips gets grimmer. 

The eyes grow *narrower* — 

And then his expression — doesn't blank. 'Blank' implies a degree of decidedly uncouth *suddenness*. Instead, Pennyworth's expression *smooths*. *Gently*. Like a chamois-cloth rubbing gently over the painfully-suggestive curves of a — British, of course — roadster. "I am aware of the... connection you've claimed to the Wayne family." 

Jason grins again. "Why, Mr. Pennyworth. Did you mean to make me sound like a gold-digging *limpet*?" 

If anything, Pennyworth's expression becomes even *more* smooth. "I take no responsibility for anything your undoubtedly singular mind provides to you in the way of thoughts, Mr. Blood." 

For a moment, Jason entertains a fantasy of bending Pennyworth over, gagging him with something huge and *sticky*, and buggering him until he's tempted to use a contraction... and then he does his level best to erase that thought from his expression. 

Slowly. 

Slowly *enough*... 

There. For just one *sliver* of a moment, the admirably thick and *secure* mask of *thunderously* correct servitude *slips* — 

And Jason can see the Alfred Pennyworth who *couldn't* visit his dear, beloved father whenever he wished — even when Jarvis Pennyworth was on his *deathbed* — because *some* kinds of government service demand *sacrifices*.

The Alfred Pennyworth who cannot *quite* hide the rather telling *knife* scar that stretches and loops from just beneath his left ear to somewhere — *somewhere* — on his *scalp*. 

The Alfred Pennyworth who, quite frankly, made *Jason* quite sanguine about leaving Bruce *nearly* alone for all these years. 

Jason shows his teeth. "There you are." 

"And so are you," Pennyworth says, and doesn't shift on his feet so much as he loosens his stance — slightly, subtly, and *tellingly*. 

Jason laughs, steps back, and spreads his hands away from his body — and his sword. "You have nothing to fear from me, Mr. Pennyworth — so long as you continue to serve my liege faithfully and well." 

"And how do you intend to serve him." 

"Faithfully and well — and with absolutely everything that I am: Body, mind, power, and *soul*." 

Pennyworth does nothing so foolish as lifting his *chin* — but he still manages to give every impression of looking down his nose at the noisome *stain* that is Jason. "Is that how you classify your service to Master Bruce's father?"

Jason laughs again. "Absolutely *not*, Mr. Pennyworth. I served Thomas precisely the way he asked me to — at as *far* a remove as possible, and with little resembling either the letter or the *spirit* of the oath I made to his ancestor four hundred years ago." 

Eyebrow *up* — "And so you blame him for your lengthy affair with his wife?" 

"Of *course* not. I blame *me* for that — and no one else. Specifically, I blame the Jason Blood from the alternate universe who visited me in nineteen-fifty-three and showed her to me — and told me that 'any number of Martha Kanes were *entirely* capable of finding any number of Jason *Bloods* *pleasing*'," Jason says, and grins again. "Had that Blood *not* shown her to me then... I might not have met her until *years* later." 

"And *not* begun the affair...?" 

"I didn't say *that*, at all, Mr. Pennyworth. Martha's marriage to Thomas was *arranged* — as you *should* be well aware. While my former liege was *more* than fond of Martha, *Martha* did not care a *whit* for Thomas. I loved her with all of myself, and would have done anything *for* her." Jason spreads his hands. "These things happen, time and time and time again. When Thomas and I discussed the matter — which he allowed to happen *precisely* once, six months before the wedding, after he had known about my relationship with Martha for three *years* —" 

Pennyworth blinks twice — 

And Jason inclines his head again. "When we discussed the matter, he gave me the *only* direct, open, and *certain* order he *ever* gave me, which was to treat Martha with love, respect, and honour; to protect her as I would him; and to *promptly* destroy myself should I ever do anything *less*. It was my pleasure to take that order, and to devote my life to fulfilling it." Jason grins. "And to never, ever, *ever* even *hint* to Martha that Thomas had said anything of the kind, as she was *precisely* contrary enough to have found ways to make it *impossible* for me to serve *or* protect her if she had ever discovered that I was doing so — even in part — because Thomas wanted me to."

A brief flash of *distaste* — quickly buried under expressionlessness. 

"Yes...?" 

Pennyworth says nothing. 

Jason hums. "Mr. Pennyworth. I believe it would be a *good* idea for the two of us to be as honest with each other as —" 

"Martha Kane Wayne was a madwoman who had an *increasingly* inappropriate relationship with her only child which has left the boy damaged even to this *day*." 

Well. "You'll get no argument from me on *that*..." 

Another blink — 

"But I rather think you're giving Thomas far, *far* too much *credit* if you think —" 

"Thomas Wayne was a man who believed everything and *everyone* — *including* his son — could be reduced and quantified to something as simple as a *recipe* for *napalm* —" 

Jason *snorts* — 

"— and he was, at times, *precisely* that kind to Master Bruce." 

Jason *bows*. And then stands straight and meets Pennyworth's eyes. "What do you intend to do —"

"*Why* didn't *you* do anything about it, Mr. Blood?" 

"Two reasons. The first was that, while I vastly enjoyed the brief moments of time Martha gave me to spend in conversation with Bruce, those ended when he was still only four years old... and, while Martha was alive, there was no one more important to me. Not even her only child. I... no, that wasn't phrased *properly*," Jason says, and narrows his eyes in consideration for a moment — and then nods. "While Martha was alive, and my love, there was no one more *real* to me than she. And, to be frank, no one whose fundamental reality — and *importance* — even *approached* hers." 

Pennyworth narrows his eyes again — *just* as he should. 

Jason smiles wryly. "The other reason was that Thomas had ordered me — offhandedly, at a remove, and yet also in a way that was utterly impossible to get *around* — to keep the truth of my service to his family from Bruce until he reached the age of sixteen. Jonah had made the same order — rather vehemently — about Thomas. And so on, and so on." 

"And why do you think that is, Mr. Blood?" 

Jason lets his smile become a grin — and gestures to himself, his mail, his *sword*... "You simply would not *believe* how many people look at me and see — somehow! — a *relic* of times *distantly* past." 

Pennyworth's mustache twitches. *Slightly*. 

Jason acknowledges the victory with a rather more gentle smile. "I longed to have the sort of relationship with Thomas that I had with Martha, Mr. Pennyworth." 

A distinct *lack* of a blink...

And Jason laughs softly and ruefully. "I longed for it with all of myself, and I longed for it *every* day of Thomas's life. Even after I got to *know* the prissy, obsessive, narrow-minded *arsehole* of a *bean*-counter." 

Pennyworth raises an *eyebrow*... but this time it is *honest* curiosity. 

"There is blood between me and the Waynes, Mr. Pennyworth. Blood, and will, and faith, and *power*. I am *bound* to this line in a way that none save a god — and *not* just *any* god — could *break*." Jason flares his nostrils. "At this moment, I can *point* to precisely where Bruce is sitting. I can tell you that he is safe. I can tell you that he is *content* — for the first time in much, much too long —" 

"You were the reason he was late for dinner." 

"Oh, yes. I *will* do better at helping him to keep to his schedules —"

"Will you molest him?" 

And that... was precisely as bald and flat and *menacing*... as it should be. Jason meets Pennyworth's eyes openly, calmly, and evenly. "I belong to him, Mr. Pennyworth. Just as I belonged to every last one of his ancestors, beginning with Hezekiah. Some of them — *only* some — chose to make *full* use of me. It is my profound, deep, and *sincere* hope —" 

"That is *foul* —" 

"Not," Jason says, and raises an eyebrow. "To me." 

They meet each other's eyes for a long moment, and a part of Jason is only running down the enchantments he can use — 

The enchantments he *will* use — 

If *forced* — 

"How good a man are you, Mr. Pennyworth?" 

Pennyworth's lip curls — a bit. 

"Perhaps I should ask how *modern* you are," Jason says.

"That is an excuse which —" 

"It does *not* play, no," Jason says, and raises two fingers to *pause* Pennyworth. And then he laughs softly. "But he truly isn't like most children of *this* age. Curl your lip all you *like*... but he is who he is. And he was *raised* by whom he was *raised* by." 

"With no help whatsoever from *you*, of course." 

"I would never say *that*, Mr. Pennyworth. He remembers me, you know. Despite the fact that, by Martha's edict, he never so much as set *eyes* on me before today... after the incident when he *nearly* walked in on Martha and I making love, when he was four." 

Pennyworth's gaze is cold, harsh —

"And you're surprised that she had shame, at all. Aren't you." Jason smiles. "So, I assure you, was *I*." 

Pennyworth loosens his stance that much *more* — 

And Jason shakes his head. "Mr. Pennyworth... he remembers me. He remembers everything he was ever *told* about me. He remembers — and he knows *full* well that I can give him pieces of his family — his *history* — that *no* one else can." 

"And you will *use* that —" 

"*Yes*," Jason says, and it comes out practically *hissed* — he pauses and takes a breath. "I will use it and every other weapon and temptation and *possibility* at my *disposal* because he. Is. My. *Liege*. Why do *you* serve, Mr. Pennyworth? What *keeps* you here when we *both* know full well that you are desired *both* by the leading lights of the stage and by MI bloody *6*?" 

"That is *none* of your concern —" 

"Oh, but it *is*, Mr. Pennyworth. Because you may be Bruce's guardian on *paper*, but he will always — *always* — be *my* lord. I will not hesitate to destroy your body and enslave your soul in *suffering* and *pain* for an *eternity* if you ever *try* to hurt him — and I sincerely *doubt* that you would succeed —" 

"Mr. Blood." And Pennyworth's voice is flat and sharp and utterly, *utterly* even. 

Jason shows his teeth. "Get your *blood* back up, man —" 

"I do *not* tend to bother with such things when I'm being threatened."

"Or when you're caring for a child who needs more — *far* more — than he's been given?" 

Narrowed eyes again — "And you honestly believe that you can be a *positive* influence in his life," Pennyworth says, and the incredulity is precisely as bracing as it should be.

"I *will* be a positive influence in his life. No matter *what*. I will teach him, and guide him, and share with him. I will *touch* him when he desires to be touched and I will *never* turn away from him. Not from his darkness, not from his tears, not from his *fears*. And *you* cannot say the same. Or have the past six years been a *warm*-up for you? Just a few more months and your spine will be limber enough to provide the occasional *hug* —" 

"That is *not* what we're speaking about —"

"It is *part* of it, Mr. Pennyworth. I —" Jason breathes a laugh. "I told him and I will tell *you*. I am an *utter* pervert. I have not the slightest problem admitting that, as it has been true about me since *long* before I ever *knew* it was true. I do *not* have a problem with self-*awareness*, Mr. Pennyworth. But... there is not one single, solitary *thing* about my *love* for my *liege* that I consider ignoble, as opposed to *outré*." 

Pennyworth is silent for a long moment, blank and cold and — thoughtful. 

Jason waits — not long.

"Is your love ennobled because Master Bruce is *different*? Or because he is your *liege*?" 

"The *latter*. *Entirely*. All children are *different* — in their myriad, marvelous ways — but they're still *children*. It took me a rather *long* time to figure out just what a child *is*, but I find no shame in that, as your species is still *working* on that question yourselves. Desiring children — and allowing those desires to become decidedly sticky *actions* — will always be an act of perversity... whether or not I choose to *indulge* in it. Bruce, unlike every *other* thirteen-year-old on this plane of existence, *owns* me. I *will* teach him how to use me in *every* way that brings him happiness, education, and *satisfaction*." 

"While the other children of your acquaintance... can in their turn only be used?" 

"I would not say that. There is *some* question of just how easily Martha could've wrapped me around her deft little pinky when she was the girl in the photograph from that *locket* you fixed up for Bruce." 

And Pennyworth... turns away. As if *that* was something to be ashamed of. 

"Mr. Pennyworth...? He *needed* that —" 

"He *needed* the *truth*," Pennyworth says, baring his teeth at nothing at all — or perhaps at Roselawn cemetery, which is, if Jason recalls correctly, *vaguely* in the direction Pennyworth is facing. And that... 

Jason touches his tongue to his upper lip. "A case *could* be made —" 

Pennyworth gestures a sharp cut-off. "No, Mr. Blood, it could *not*," he says, and turns back to face him. "Neither of us chose to remove Master Bruce from the *clutches* of his parents when it might have done him some measure of *good*, and so we must live with the boy he is *now*." 

Jason takes a breath — and inclines his head. 

And Pennyworth nods once. "He is... he is troubled." And Pennyworth takes a shuddering breath — 

Another — 

And then he *growls*. "My father spoke — quietly, fearfully, and *drunkenly* *only* — of a certain *myth* about the Wayne family."

"There are many," Jason says, and raises an eyebrow. 

"Do not toy with me in this moment, Mr. Blood." 

Jason smiles ruefully. "They are mad, Mr. Pennyworth. Mad to a man... and a woman. I am old, and powerful, and violent, and *paranoid*, but I am *not* capable of removing every threat from life's gaming board before they strike. One of Bruce's ancestors angered *precisely* the wrong spirit-witch, and brought the curse of madness down on *all* of them." 

Pennyworth stiffens enough to make himself *vulnerable* —

"Mr. Pennyworth... *one* of the things I can do, at times, is alleviate the symptoms of the varying sorts of madness which afflict my lieges, and which cannot be eased by any non-magical nostrum. I have done just that for *many* of my lieges —" 

"But not all?" 

"I cannot — no," Jason says, and smiles *wryly*. "I do not *force* myself on my lieges. When they refuse my help, I do not give it." 

"Even if it would save their *lives*?" 

The last time he'd checked, his likeness of Marius showed the deepest, quietest patch of woods on the Wayne property. The ground was carpeted with dead leaves, and dappled with golden light from a sun he believes — he *must* believe — Marius is sharing with his beloved sister. 

Somehow. 

"In the past, Mr. Pennyworth, I have even allowed my lieges to commit suicide —"

Alfred *rears* back — 

"— when that is what they have *most* wished to do, and when I have *exhausted* every possible avenue of bringing them light, and joy, and *hope*." 

"Master Bruce will *not* take that route." 

Jason raises an eyebrow. "Not if we can help it...?" 

Alfred narrows his eyes again — but only for a moment before he takes a deep breath, relaxes himself visibly and *moderately* belligerently, and then resumes a posture of formal servitude which seems less dismissive and cold than simply... correct. 

For certain *painfully* British values of *same* — 

There are *reasons* why Jason doesn't go *back* there very often — 

And there are reasons why he maintains this accent — and modulates it to keep it some variety of 'current' — as well. Jason sighs and folds his mailed hands in front of himself with a wry smile — 

And Alfred inclines his head. "What precisely do you intend to do about the undoubtedly *large* number of supernatural creatures *inhabiting* Master Bruce's home?" 

"Begin — again — the process of regularly exterminating them. With the emphasis being on *extermination*. The various *deeply* problematic things Hezekiah Wayne did to guarantee wealth, power, and influence for himself and his descendants combined with where he chose to *build* his home and business... well." Jason gestures *somewhat* grandly. "This is a supernatural sinkhole, Mr. Pennyworth, and it has been from the *very* beginning. The distinctly awful things I do to the creatures who tumble and slink and ooze and creep and teleport and et *cetera* into all the Manor's darkest spaces *does* tend to keep many *other* such creatures away... but the draw will always be far too great to resist for some. My grief kept me away from this place for much too long — long *enough* that a minor demon which had possessed young Bruce when he was *seven* —"

Pennyworth grunts and stares at him.

And Jason inclines his head again. "I missed it, as well, and I had far, far less excuse. In any event, whatever moments you've caught of him talking to 'himself' or losing himself deep within his own mind have almost certainly *not* been the onset of the Wayne curse... as opposed to the violent, painful, relentless, and oft-*pornographic* — according to Bruce himself — depredations of a darkling creature Bruce had taken to calling 'the Bat'."

Pennyworth closes his eyes for a long moment — and then opens them again, looking both younger and a great deal more *harsh*. "You destroyed it." 

"With malice aforethought... though Bruce did not allow me to kill it as brutally as I wished to," Jason says, and waves a hand. "He will learn that some creatures have not earned his care, nobility, or *pity*." 

"So he will." 

Jason shows his teeth. 

Pennyworth does nothing so *crass*... but manages to exude a general air of violent satisfaction, which... 

Jason laughs. "You know, Mr. Pennyworth..." 

Pennyworth raises an eyebrow. 

"*I* served the crown rather before *most*." 

"Your point?" 

"Should you ever feel the need — or desire, or *whim* — to discuss that which you did in service to that which you *once* believed mattered more than anything else ever could... I am at your disposal." 

This time, Pennyworth *does* lift his chin... in a profoundly *exacting* parody of offense and disdain. "I think *not*." 

Jason laughs *hard*. "You sound like I just suggested reaching down your trousers and giving your *balls* a tweak." 

Pennyworth huffs a quiet laugh and drops his mask again, revealing a man who *cannot* be older than his mid-thirties... and who has absolutely spent a *significant* portion of his life around spies and *actors*. This time, when his mustache twitches, his mouth actually curls into something resembling a smile. "Are you quite certain that you did not, Mr. Blood...?" 

Well. Jason lets *his* smile grow positively wolfish. "Mr. Pennyworth, I believe you will find that I am never — *ever* — certain of such things." 

"Even at your advanced age...?" Pennyworth clucks his tongue. "One expects better from the military classes." 

"Oh, we're *all* overgrown boys with overgrown *urges* —"

And Pennyworth raises a hand. And his eyebrow. 

Jason raises his own. "No...?" 

Pennyworth's eyebrow approaches his hairline — which is impressive, given how far that particular boundary has crept over the past several years. "Mr. *Blood*." 

"In my defence..." 

"I await your next words with *bated* breath, I assure you." 

Jason *coughs* a laugh. "In my *defence*... I never *once* claimed to be *anything* but a pervert — and I never, ever will." 

"And that is your *defence*." 

"Oh, yes." 

"For making advances on the *guardian* of the boy —" 

"My liege." 

"—whose *innocence* you have only *just* —" 

"Taken," Jason says, and grins. "*Thoroughly*." 

Pennyworth purses his mouth again. 

"Oh, not *that* —" 

"What *precisely* will you do when the young sir wishes to share his affections more *appropriately*?" 

"Mr. Pennyworth..." Jason laughs softly. "It is in my *best* interests for Bruce to produce *several* heirs. Several healthy, fertile, cheerful heirs who *love* their father — and, presumably, their mother — and who wish to listen to absolutely everything he has to say about that ever so *useful* family vassal." 

Pennyworth's expression is a perfect illustration of *consternation*... but only for a moment before he nods once — and rather militaristically, at that. "It is in the young *sir's* best interests for him to — hopefully *quickly* — make a *friend*. Should that friend be a likely young woman with whom he can — *slowly* and with great *care* — also find love..." And then he raises an eyebrow again. 

"I do, in fact, have some few ideas about that," Jason says, and *firms* his scrying — and multiverse-walking — plans. His liege will *need* allies. 

"Do feel free to elaborate."

Jason grins. "One of my... counterparts from another universe shared information with me about the people with whom *his* Bruce had found companionship over the years. While there are *never* any guarantees about whether — or *when* — a given person will be born in a given universe, and there are *certainly* never any guarantees about what sort of *soul* a given person will harbor within them as they shift and change *between* the universes..." Jason spreads his hands again. "There are signs of a degree of multiversal *consistency* about these companions." 

And Pennyworth actually looks *excited* for a moment — 

Which is only amusing until Jason remembers that *he* had left Pennyworth to raise Bruce alone, and alone, and *horribly* alone. "He has had no successes in connecting to others whatsoever?" 

Pennyworth *looks* at him. 

"An honest question, Mr. Pennyworth. He is a beautiful, brilliant, kind, witty, *warm* boy —" 

"And if you have learned *anything* about the nature of children in your *millennium* of existence...?" 

Jason winces. "... they are rarely kind to such paragons, no. Especially not when encouraged to form packs and factions and the like." He sighs. "You *could* alter his schooling." 

"The young sir wished to follow *precisely* in his father's footsteps," Pennyworth says, and his expression *quirks* — "Almost certainly because his anatomy would not *allow* him to follow precisely in his *mother's*." 

Jason coughs — "Yes, *well*." 

"Indeed," Pennyworth says, mustache twitching *once*. "*You* could consider using the influence you *will* develop with and *over* the young sir —" 

"To change his opinions about the schooling he has chosen, yes," Jason says, and inclines his head once more. "I believe I'll do *just* that. Especially since Bruce doesn't actually *enjoy* very much about the schooling in question...? It's *not* simply the lack of social interaction?" 

Pennyworth sighs briefly. "It is not. While there *have* been educators who have been willing to take note of the young sir's quite obvious brilliance and tailor their curricula for him accordingly, they have been in the minority." 

Jason sucks his teeth. "*That* is criminal. Bruce should have private tutors at his disposal —" 

"*That*, you will find, would separate him even more dramatically from his peers, Mr. Blood." 

"We will *give* him peers he can actually *use*, Mr. Pennyworth," Jason says, and makes a gesture taking in the multiverse as a whole. "And who's to say we can't take the opportunity to educate *them*, too?" 

Pennyworth gives him a *shrewd* look.

"Yes...?" 

"I begin to wonder whether you plan to *kidnap* companions for the young sir." 

"*I* begin to wonder whether you truly wish to ask that question." 

"Mr. *Blood* —" 

"Be at *ease*, Mr. Pennyworth," Jason says, and laughs quietly. "I do *not* intend to remove happy children from the warm and loving bosoms of happy families. I don't *do* that sort of thing." 

"Then what *do* you do?"

Jason gives himself a moment to study the back of the Manor, the shadows that gather under the winter-denuded trees, the shadows that gather independent of any reasonable and non-supernatural source, at *all*... and then he opens his senses just *so*. 

Bruce is slightly less than eight hundred yards away, and well-fed, and comfortable. The contentment he'd felt earlier has faded and *shifted* to something more like *curiosity*, however — he is undoubtedly wondering where Pennyworth has gone. Unless...

Could he be eager for Jason's own return? Jason represses a shiver and turns back to Pennyworth. "I've had a *bit* of time to consider what I was — and was *not* — told about the companions of the Bruces in those other universes. And I've now considered *that* against what I know about the Bruce in *this* universe."

"You have my utmost attention, Mr. Blood." 

"And your utmost promise to commit mayhem upon my person should I not come up with something *good*, yes, I know," Jason says, and laughs again. "Simply this, Mr. Pennyworth: I believe we can agree, at this point, that it would take an *exceptional* young person to be able to even *accept* Bruce — much less welcome him into their hearts." 

Pennyworth's sigh this time is dark, and sad. "I must believe —" But he cuts himself off with a sharp breath, and shakes his head once. "The vast majority of parents fail miserably at the task of raising their children to be *discerning*. 'Exceptional' is, I agree, what we must search for." 

"So. How to define the term?"

"Intellect, kindness, generosity, nobility of spirit —" 

"All of the above and *then* some, to be *sure*," Jason says, and smiles darkly before pointing — through several thick, well-made walls — to where Bruce has begun to *brood*. "But there is more which must be considered." 

Pennyworth raises an eyebrow — but then takes a breath and nods slowly. "The companions in question must have an understanding of... darkness." 

"Oh, yes —" 

"More to the point, perhaps..." And Pennyworth's gaze grows distant with thought as he *taps* the left corner of his mustache with one immaculately-gloved finger. 

"Yes...?" 

"The companions must have an understanding of darkness which is *specific* — at least in part — to the conception of *family*," Pennyworth says, and narrows his eyes in old, old anger at Bruce's parents. 

Jason spreads his hands. "Bruce needs to be understood. And, perhaps more than that —" 

"The young sir would give very, very much indeed for the opportunity to gather another to *his* bosom... and understand *their* pain, and trouble, and difficulty." 

"*That* surprises me not at all." 

Pennyworth gives him a level look. "You have used *that*, as well." 

"Mr. Pennyworth, you'll find that I tend to use *all* parts of the animal. *Every* animal." 

"And what will you do when the young sir discovers the depths of your manipulativeness?" 

"Congratulate him heartily and honestly, and teach him how to always recognize such things in those who mean him *harm*. I don't expect it will take very long, at all." 

"And so you will *work* your way deep into his heart —" 

"His *soul*, Mr. Pennyworth. It is the witchery at the core of me." 

Another level look — 

And Jason spreads his heads. "A seeking of parity, Mr. Pennyworth. I am owned; I do *not* own in turn." 

"Are you quite sure about that." 

"The binding I set on myself is quite specific —" 

"*You* set it...?" 

"No one else could, Mr. Pennyworth — except, of course, for a particularly meddlesome god. While mind-control, outright soul-stealing, and various other sorts of non-consensual spirit-magery are always concerns for *anyone* who walks the paths I tend to walk..." Jason waves a hand. "I've learned how to protect myself over the years, and the fact that I am not in the *least* bit *alone* in my soul affords me an even greater degree of protection. I *can* be bound against my will... but it would take some effort." 

Pennyworth raises an eyebrow. "That strongly suggests that you could *break* the binding connecting you to Master Bruce any time you wish to do so." 

"I could," Jason says, and smiles ruefully. "Though... not without pain." 

"Injury?" 

Jason turns back to the Manor, lifting his head and flaring his nostrils before he thinks about it — ah. "He's coming closer." 

"Close enough to overhear...?" 

"Not *quite* yet," Jason says, and turns back to Pennyworth. "The injuries would be solely emotional, but quite brutal in their way. Were I not *very* careful, they would affect my powers, and my ability to *use* my powers. There is some possibility that even the greatest degree of care would not protect me." 

Pennyworth studies him for a long moment — 

And Jason opens himself for it as best as he can, leaving himself... some variety of vulnerable. 

"You've broken your vows in the past." 

"I have broken many promises over the years, Mr. Pennyworth, and, yes, some few vows, as well," Jason says, and smiles wryly. "I have also broken a *covenant* by turning away from my duties to Arthur in favor of nursing my own bitterness, loneliness, resentments..." Jason smiles *darkly*. "And my lusts and hopes and dreams and *love*, as well. I paid rather dearly for that — if not so dearly as my brothers-in-arms — and I assure you that I've learned just a *few* lessons from that experience." 

"Including how *not* to break... a covenant?" 

"Just so. While I have considered breaking my connection to the Waynes *many* times over the past century and a half, I never would have done it while I was *needed*... and I certainly wouldn't have turned my back on Thomas if, as an example, he had called on me for help in the numinous future where he survived." 

Pennyworth raises an eyebrow... and the question is obvious. 

"The answer to that question designed to make you — and Bruce — think well of me is that I am not in the habit of falling out of love with *anyone* I fall *in* love with. The other answer to that question is that Hezekiah Wayne did not *only* guarantee himself and his descendants largesse — he also *bound* the Waynes to the soul of Gotham in a way that is... hmm. Well, let's just say that it's metaphysically — and *powerfully* — meaningful and leave it at that." 

Pennyworth takes a *deep* breath — "How *much* danger is Master Bruce in? Beyond the assorted creatures which inhabit his home." 

"Well... I should say: the *overwhelming* majority of the creatures which are here — and which will *come* here in the *future* — will *not* try to injure Bruce on purpose —" 

"An accidental injury is *still* an injury, Mr. Blood," Pennyworth says, and gives him a *withering* look. 

Jason grins. "So it is. Still, I mentioned intent for a reason, Mr. Pennyworth: *Many* of the creatures *will* try to injure *you*. Not to mention any eventual friends of Bruce's who visit regularly —" 

"And his future bride," Pennyworth says, breathing deeply again and nodding once. "Yes, I see." He gives Jason a narrow look. "I assure you, Mr. Blood, you have adequately made the case for your... utility."

"And so I should *stop* making your bollocks creep, Mr. Pennyworth...? Where would be the fun in *that*...?" 

Pennyworth harrumphs, pulling on the presence — and the illusory *size* — of some vast and vastly self-satisfied *burgher*.

Jason laughs *helplessly* — 

Pennyworth wags a *finger* at him which is absolutely *not* the size of some desperately suggestive German *sausage* — 

Jason *coughs* — 

And, in a heartbeat, the amused twinkle in Alfred's eyes becomes something rather more reminiscent of firelight reflected off a *razor*. 

Jason takes *half* a breath — 

"*Why* are they dead, Mr. Blood." 

— and then he takes the rest of it. "Because I was not allowed to save them." 

"Who *stopped* you." 

And Bruce... Jason can't *see* him — his vision will almost certainly never be as sharp as *Etrigan's* — but he can absolutely feel him. 

Close. 

Just as Pennyworth wanted him to be for this part of the conversation. Jason swallows and meets Pennyworth's eyes. "I am old, and paranoid, and powerful, and well-trained in any number of belligerent arts. I *also* have a degree of multiversal consistency — by which I mean there are a *number* of Jason Bloods out there who are *also* old, paranoid, powerful, and well-trained in belligerency. We tend to help each other where and when we can, and *warn* each other about the assorted terrible things which happen to us — and our loved ones — so that we can *attempt* to prevent the same things from happening to us in *other* universes. 

"We do not always succeed." 

"Elaborate," Pennyworth says, cold and *clear*. 

"Very well," Jason says, and touches the part of Bruce which lives inside him — 

Strokes it and *hopes* Bruce can feel it and feel it as *comfort* — 

"I knew that Martha and Thomas would — probably — be murdered in nineteen sixty-eight. I knew that the murders would — probably — *not* involve the supernatural *directly*. I knew that the murders would — *probably* — be witnessed by their young *son*. This knowledge came to me from *five* maddened, grief-stricken, and *enraged* Jason Bloods who had *also* been forewarned... and who had been, in one way or another, actively *blocked* from preventing the deaths from occurring —" 

"By *whom*." 

Jason bares his teeth. "I don't bloody know!"

"Blood." 

That — Jason takes a *breath*. "They do not die — they are not *murdered* — in every universe," Jason says, and passes one mailed hand over his mailed head. "I have been told of several universes where Martha and Thomas reach their fifties, their sixties..." Jason swallows again and fights back — no. 

He lets himself feel the rage. 

He lets himself feel the *pain* — "*None* of the gods I have *consulted* on this matter will lay claim to the *plan* to murder the Waynes, but..." Jason laughs darkly. "I am precisely who I am, Mr. Pennyworth. I have been warring with gods for a *very* long time, and the simple fact of the matter is that there is exactly *one* god who views me *positively*. The All-Mother — the *Earth* — is *sympathetic* to my — and all those *other* Jasons' — plight, but, by her own words — as passed along to me by one of her favored children — *she* has no part in the endless, brutal, *repetitive* *obscenity* that is Martha's and Thomas's murders. She does not even have possession of their *souls*!" 

Pennyworth blinks. "But... their bodies..." 

"She has their *meat*. Their *rot*. And *nothing* else. And she can *tell* me nothing about where the truth of them — the *whole* of them — can be. Across the multiverse, time and *again*, some power — or *powers* — *take* Thomas and Martha painfully, suddenly, and *cruelly*. They do so behind veils of secrecy so thick that not even other *gods* know who one such as me can *sacrifice* to in order to plead for even a *merciful* death for them. More — *worse* — *many* Jason Bloods have *stopped* warning others about it, because the *attempts* to stop the murders —"

Pennyworth raises a hand — 

"Don't *stop* me!" 

Pennyworth hisses between his *teeth*. "Mr. Blood..." He shakes his head once. "Go on." 

Jason is *glaring* —

He can *feel* the shadows gathering within him — 

*Around* him — and that will. Not. Do. He breathes again, *controlling* himself, *leashing* himself — and forces himself to remember that he's dealing with humans — one *particular* human who very much loves one *other* particular human and who wishes to *protect* him. 

Because he couldn't before. 

One more *breath* — "I... need not discuss this more," Jason says, and smiles ruefully. "I believe you can *guess* what happened in universes where there were *successful* attempts to block the murders from happening in that alley."

Alfred inclines his head. "I —" 

"Tell me," Bruce says, stepping out into the night and looking to both of them for a moment before focusing *hard* on Jason. 

Jason winces. "Bruce —" 

"I want to know the answer to this question, Jason," Bruce says, and he straightens his posture utterly unnecessarily... before pulling on ineffable *presence*. "You... you are..." He shakes his head once. "Answer the question." 

Jason does absolutely nothing to repress his shiver, and he does not look away from Bruce's eyes before he says, "Yes, my liege. In one universe, a Jason Blood convinced Thomas to avoid attending the theater that night. Instead, he took his family on a drive into the Pine Barrens. Their car was hit by a car full of drunk, joy-riding teenagers — Bruce was the only survivor." 

"And other universes?" 

Jason inclines his head. "Another Jason Blood couldn't convince Thomas of anything, and so went to the alley himself and summarily butchered the mugger. Thomas broke the bond between them, refused that Blood further entry into his home... and a rather more aggressive goblin than most drove Martha to suicide within six months. After she first murdered Bruce. Thomas committed suicide himself soon after."

A muscle twitches beneath Bruce's right eye — 

He *swallows* — 

And Pennyworth cups his shoulder. "Master Bruce. I do not believe that this is a topic —" 

"Once. Once more," Bruce says, and stares only into Jason's eyes. "Please." 

Jason closes his eyes and inclines his head. And then he opens them again. "Another Jason Blood took the evidence that he had been given by all of the others of the gods' *determination* to build a deterministic *multiverse*..." Jason shows his teeth. "He built a pocket universe for Martha and Thomas, which only he could *find*, and which only he and their son could *enter* —" 

Alfred gasps — 

But Bruce only nods. "He kept them safe." 

"For a time," Jason says, and forces his expression to gentle — no. No. He lets it stay savage. He will never lie to his liege. "That *particular* Blood was, of course, rejected by Thomas *and* Martha — please remember, my liege: a *vanishingly* small number of people will *appreciate* being imprisoned, even if it *is* for their own good — and they convinced their son to appeal to the Justice Society on their behalf." And Jason raises an eyebrow. 

Bruce blinks once — "The Justice Society treated that Jason as an enemy. And... defeated him?" 

"Just so. Their Zatara broke Thomas and Martha free while that Blood was helpless to prevent it... and then, for reasons he was never able to explain to *anyone*, he murdered them in front of Blood, his allies, and young Bruce."

Bruce narrows his eyes. "I... am very angry." 

"As you should be, my liege." 

"I am. I find the idea of determinism... ugly. *Small*." 

"As do I, my liege." 

Bruce narrows his eyes *more* — 

*Tenses* — 

And then relaxes himself with slow, deliberative care. "*Is* the multiverse deterministic?" 

"No," Jason says. "There are times when I — and my counterparts — alter the very fabric of reality on an *hourly* basis, and we have not only changed the *future* with our actions; we have, at times, changed the *past* —" 

"And yet there is... this." 

Jason inclines his head. "We keep trying. Just as we keep trying..." He sighs and smiles ruefully. "I have been told by more than *one* Blood that your ancestor Nathaniel has made the same mistake *constantly*, my liege." 

Bruce raises his own eyebrow. "Have you considered the possibility that there are curses on my line *other* than the one you know about?" 

Jason laughs quietly — and painfully. "More than once. More than two *hundred* times. But, truly, the things Hezekiah did..." Jason spreads his hands. "In my more philosophical moments, I am forced to admit that, for *many* of the gods and powers and tides and et *cetera* of the multiverse, Hezekiah's crimes would be *enough* to justify visiting pain and tragedy and *drama* on your line right down to the very *last* generation." 

"I. I don't know if I will be able to be that philosophical, Jason. Not —" Bruce shakes his head and reaches up to cover Pennyworth's hand on his shoulder. He grips it briefly, then drops his hand again — 

Pennyworth frowns and *squeezes* Bruce's shoulder. "I do not believe Mr. Blood was suggesting that you *do* develop a philosophical attitude toward the murder of your parents, Master Bruce." 

"I most certainly was *not*, my liege. While it can be *deeply* problematic to hold on to one's most powerful emotions in their most powerful forms —" 

"I wish to stay angry about this," Bruce says. "I wish... at least until I have found more answers." 

Jason inhales deeply, tasting Bruce's *resolve* — and then he inclines his head. "As you say." 

After a moment, Bruce turns to Pennyworth. "Have you questioned Jason sufficiently, Alfred?" 

Pennyworth's expression quirks. "There is much I still wish to know about your... vassal, Master Bruce, but I have indeed satisfied myself as to his bona fides." 

Bruce nods. "Thank you for taking the time to do so." 

"Of course, young sir. Was your meal to your liking?" 

For a moment, Bruce looks somewhat *lost*, as if he hasn't the faintest *clue* what he had eaten — 

And Pennyworth's *wry* expression suggests that this is less than strange. "The roast sirloin tip, grilled asparagus, and new potatoes were not the most original choice I could have made —" 

"I." Bruce's gratitude and relief is *obvious*. "It was quite delicious, Alfred. Everything was, as usual. Will there be more of the roast available for sandwiches tomorrow?" 

Pennyworth's mustache twitches. "Of course, Master Bruce. Would you like anything else before I return to my duties for the evening?" 

Bruce breathes deeply — and looks to *him*. "No, thank you, Alfred. I believe I'll spend more time conversing with Jason until he must leave for the evening." 

Pennyworth raises his eyebrow at him — 

And Jason smiles and inclines *his* head. "I *will* give my liege more than enough time to finish his schoolwork, Mr. Pennyworth." 

Pennyworth sniffs. "I never doubted that for a moment," he says, and the look he's giving Jason intensifies *dramatically*, as if to promise *Jason's* balls *endless* years of pain and suffering should Jason *cause* Pennyworth to doubt him. 

Jason laughs and *bows* as Pennyworth enters the Manor once again — and then he turns back to Bruce. "My liege. What is your pleasure?" 

Bruce blinks. "I feel strongly that I shouldn't be thinking of ways to have orgasms right now." 

Jason laughs *meanly*. "*I* feel strongly that you should *often* be thinking of ways to have orgasms." 

"Not always?" 

"Oh, no, my liege. You *must* consider your schoolwork at times — and such a face you make for that," Jason says, and laughs *more*. "Is it truly so terrible?" 

"There's no challenge to it whatsoever. My teachers follow the textbooks exactly, and while there's relatively little wrong with the textbooks, themselves, I've already worked through all of my books in their entirety," Bruce says, and gestures toward the still partially-open service door. "When Alfred sends me to do my homework, I go upstairs and spend an hour predicting which questions the teachers will ask in class the next day based on which chapters of which books we were given for review, and then I spend the rest of the time reading other books. More interesting books. Or..." And Bruce... blushes. 

"Yes...?" 

Bruce swallows. "I... sketch. From time to time." 

"And this is embarrassing to you?" 

Bruce blinks at him. "It shouldn't be?"

"Absolutely *not*, my liege —" 

"But — I don't intend to *study* art much more than I already have, and so it's... well. In many ways I'm only... playing." 

Jason opens his mouth to ask Bruce what the *problem* with that is — and then imagines punching himself with his mailed fist. Vividly. And repeatedly. "There is *nothing* wrong with having a hobby," Jason says, *dropping* his mail and tucking it away for another day — and cloaking himself in glamour which appears to be a pale linen suit much too light for the weather. 

"*Oh*. Oh, that's very attractive, Jason." 

Jason grins and shakes out his hair. "Thank you *very* much, my liege. I'm actually *quite* naked —" 

"You — *what*?" 

"I'm 'wearing' *glamour*. If I *do* not appear to be wearing silk, wool, or chain mail? I am almost certainly *precisely* as naked as I was the day I was born —" 

"But *why*?" 

Jason shrugs lightly. "Perversion, contrariness, frugality, affectation... all of the above, none of the above, some few other things not *immediately* coming to mind — oh, yes, including the fact that *I* feel just as overly warm most of the time as *you* feel my touch to be." 

Bruce blinks — and nods thoughtfully. "I quite enjoy the warmth of your skin." 

"Oh, yes...? *Good*. Now let's talk about your schooling as I parade nakedly through the hallowed halls of your home."


	5. In which Jason does a better job of being reassuring. Mostly. Sort of.

"I." Bruce stares at him. 

Jason grins and gestures Bruce to precede him into the Manor — 

And the *laugh* in Bruce's eyes — 

The bright flashing *fire* — 

Bruce hums as he turns to lead Jason back inside, graceful and smooth and — 

Not kingly. Not *quite* that. There haven't been enough people to *appreciate* the sheer *quality* of Bruce's self, all the things about him which make him *worth* — 

And there is a moment when Jason can only laugh at himself, silent and cautious and *contained* as he follows his liege — and, yes, his very newest *love* — deeper and deeper into the belly of a house which may very well *become* a beast if left to its own devices — and the devices of its *countless* supernatural admirers — for long enough. 

There is a moment when he can only laugh, and *look* at himself, and point out that it hasn't even been twelve *hours* since he was alone — *comfortably* alone — in his shop, engaging in *comfortably* solitary pleasures and *comfortably* planning on doing more of the same for the foreseeable *future*. 

He was not happy; he had not *been* happy since he had examined and weighed every last *scrap* of information he had been given about how his last love and his last *liege* would die and come up with absolutely *nothing* he could do to avert the tragedy — nothing he could do, at all, save for enchanting Martha and Thomas to not feel the pain of the gunshots and to immediately slip beyond the *reach* of the *emotional* trauma — 

Would Bruce find that comforting to know? 

Better or *worse* than the knowledge that Jason had left Bruce himself *free* of enchantment so that one day Bruce could perhaps — *perhaps* — lead Jason to the gunman, and from there to whoever *pushed* the gunman onto his path? 

Bruce wants to stay *angry*, and that is something Jason can understand with *all* of himself. There *will* come a day when *every* Blood will rise up against whichever power or powers had *done* this — and it could not be *more* fitting if they do so at the right hands of every *possible* Bruce. It feels so *right* — 

And, twelve hours ago, Jason did not even know that Bruce was *violent*.

Or *bisexual*. 

Or that he had *kept* the beautiful mind in his head. 

Or that he was obsessed with his *mother*. 

Or that — 

"Jason...?" 

Jason blinks — he was about to walk *past* Bruce's bedroom... to Martha's suite. Oh, dear. He laughs and pinches the bridge of his nose. 

"Are you all right?" 

"You could tell I was... woolgathering." 

Bruce searches him for a moment. "You seemed... passionate about something. Driven." 

Well... yes. Jason drops his hand — no. He cups Bruce's handsome face, and strokes his mouth — still rather a bit swollen. "I was thinking about you." 

Bruce stares *into* him. "I don't believe you were thinking about sex." 

"You're a deeply intuitive boy." 

"Thank you, but —" 

"I was thinking about *revenge*, my liege. And love." 

Bruce shivers. "I wish... every night, I try to remember the face of the mugger." 

Jason inclines his head. "I will be able to help you with that, but —" 

"His identity is, ultimately, less important than what being pushed him to murder my parents. Yes?" 

Jason doesn't *grip* Bruce's face — "Yes, my liege." 

Bruce nods. "There was. I believe there was more you didn't say about my parents. I believe there *is* more." 

"There is," Jason says, and smiles ruefully. "I knew when they would die, and I knew... well. I knew everything — nearly everything — that I've told you tonight. I enchanted them so that they would not feel the pain —" 

"Oh. They. Mother burned herself earlier that evening. She didn't feel the heat of the malfunctioning cigarette lighter she was holding for an older woman whose hands were shaking too much for her to..." Bruce frowns and stares at him.

Jason shivers. "Yes, my liege. That was the reason she was injured." 

"And. You can... look within my mind? And find the mugger's identity?" 

"His face, what you observed of his build, his clothing, the way he moved, his scents —" 

Bruce growls. "You — you could have —" 

"Yes." 

"*Before* now!" 

"Yes," Jason says, and *forces* himself to stop touching Bruce's face. He can't make himself step back, however. He — "My apologies for leaving after their murders are worthless, my liege, but they are yours just the same —"

"I don't — I don't *want* —" 

"— as is my promise to never — ever — leave your side again, unless you wish me to, or I have no choice in the matter." 

Bruce's gaze is — wounded. Deep and bruised and sharp and *hurt*. It. 

Jason shudders. His own gaze can be no *better*. His — no. 

No. 

Jason drops to his knees, to *both* knees — 

"Oh — Jason..." 

"I have been *weak*, my liege," Jason says, and looks *up* into Bruce's eyes. "I have been *unworthy* to call myself your vassal. I have run from my duties, and hidden, and railed in the darkness about the *unfairness* of *life* rather than give to you that which you needed —" 

"You were *grieving* —" 

"And so were *you*," Jason says, and cups Bruce's waist. "We could have been doing so together. We could have been finding a way through the *morass* of *horror* and *pain* and *loneliness* together. Instead, due to my selfishness, we *both* suffered. And I know regret." 

Bruce swallows and stares down at him, wide-eyed and apprehensive, wondering, curious, thoughtful, *hungry* — 

"I have been yours since your father's heart *stopped*, my liege. My service to you began the moment —"

"But. You didn't come to me." 

Jason shivers. "I did not." 

"You were. You were *supposed* to come to me, even though you were grieving," Bruce says, and the thoughtfulness is growing within him, and so, Jason thinks, is the *understanding*. 

"Yes, my liege. My grief was a *reason*, but it was *not* an excuse." 

And Bruce nods once, and then stares at him for a long moment. Stares *down* at him for a long moment. "You were supposed to come to me," he says again, quiet and firm. 

"Yes, my liege." 

"I... was supposed to *have* you," Bruce says, and his voice is still *thoughtful*, but there's a hardness to it, a *determination* — 

Jason shivers again — and feels himself *twitch*. "*Yes*, my liege." 

Bruce narrows his eyes. "I wasn't supposed to be *alone*." 

"*Never* —" 

"And this — and all of the other universes. All of the other *murders*," Bruce says — nearly *growls* again as he glares at Jason. "None of them were my *fault*!" 

Jason *swallows* a gasp — because he will not *allow* his liege to doubt because of *his* foolish surprise at Bruce's *survivor's* guilt. "No, they were *not*, my liege. *None* of it was your fault. None of it ever *could* have been your fault —" 

"Then who wants me to think that it *was*, Jason?" 

Oh... 

"Again and again — my parents are murdered in front of me, and often in ways which directly suggest that they would *not* have been murdered if they had not chosen to do something for me, or if I — or the Bruce in that universe — had not chosen to do something to endanger them. Why? Who wants my *guilt*?" 

Now... is not the time to tell Bruce how *badly* he wants to suck his *cock* again. Now... "I do not know, my liege. But I promise to devote the rest of my existence to finding *out* —" 

"No." 

Jason blinks. "I —" 

"No. You..." Bruce frowns, thoughtful again. *Young* again as he searches Jason's face — and reaches for him. 

Jason reaches up and takes Bruce's hands in his own. "Please tell me, my liege." 

"You. You'll stay with me." 

"Yes —" 

"And — and *teach* me." 

"*Yes*, my liege —" 

"And help me, and — guide me. And — all of those other things," Bruce says, and searches Jason again as he *squeezes* Jason's hands. "And we'll discover the identity of our — our *tormentors* together."

Jason takes a deep breath — and tastes more wonder, and more hunger, and more curiosity, and apprehension and worry and anger. And many, many other things. Jason licks his lips, and then bends his head to kiss Bruce's fists, left then right. "Everything I am is yours, my liege. Use me as you will, and I will be *greatly* pleasured." 

"I don't want to be alone anymore, Jason." 

"Then I will return to your side whenever —" 

"Move. Move in," Bruce says, low and full and *hungry*. "Move in *here*." 

And that... is an offer that has been made in the past. 

It's an offer that he's *accepted* in the past, and in Jonah's time Jason had *vastly* enjoyed imagining all the ways he could torment the man by pointing out all the places in his 'sacred castle' where Jason had ejaculated *copiously*. But...

It hasn't been like this. "As you say, my liege." 

"Oh. Oh, Jason..." And Bruce tugs *hard* on Jason's hands until Jason stands — 

Bruce wraps his arms around Jason's chest and hugs him *hard* — 

Bruce *shakes* — 

But Jason is already hugging him back, squeezing and stroking him and making promises with his *body* —

"You don't feel naked." 

Jason *blinks* — and laughs. "No, I do *not*," he says, and leans in to kiss Bruce's temple. "It would not be much of a glamour if the illusion could be pierced with one casual touch." 

*Bruce's* touches... are not casual in the slightest. 

He is pinching the shadows making up Jason's 'jacket' between his fingers, and nuzzling Jason's 'shirt', and *stepping* on Jason's 'shoes' — 

*Stomping* on them, truly — 

Jason laughs somewhat harder. "My liege." 

"I — oh. Am I causing you discomfort?" 

"Not at all. You're not — quite — touching me, after all," Jason says, pulling back enough to smile down into Bruce's eyes. 

"What *am* I touching?" 

"Open your mouth for just a moment... yes, like so." And Jason exhales a very particular sort of shadow into Bruce's mouth — 

Bruce jerks and coughs and stumbles *back* — but the shadow has him, just the same. "Jason, I — what —" 

"Look at me, my liege," Jason says, standing straight and spreading his arms.

Bruce does just that — and blinks. 

And blushes — 

And blushes *very* deeply as he looks down at Jason's *partially*-erect cock, which Jason is — helpfully, he thinks — presenting to his liege with the help of his now-revealed swirling, shifting, *coiling*, *restless* shadows. 

Jason smiles and tugs on the end of one of the shadows in question — not incidentally making his cock jerk a bit. "Do you see?" 

"I..." Bruce wets his lips — not *quite* licking them entire. 

Perhaps he's spent too much time with Pennyworth recently. "Do you *like* what you see...?" 

Bruce takes a *shallow* breath — "Very much so," he says, and looks up — and into Jason's eyes. "Do you enjoy — exposing yourself?" 

"Quite often. But especially to you —" 

"And. To everyone who has been your liege?" 

Jason smiles ruefully. "No. Guthlac rather lacked the confidence for that sort of thing around Arthur, save for when it came time for we knights to bathe together in some icy river or another because we had grown too foul for even each *other's* generally filth-ridden company. This shyness eased as Guthlac grew into a man... but then there were other concerns." 

"And with my ancestors?" 

"I've been *effectively* shameless for quite some time, my liege, but nudity *is* vulnerability. There are very, very few people in the multiverse — as these things go — who feel entirely comfortable exposing vulnerabilities to those who they know do not care for them," Jason says, and raises an eyebrow. 

"But — you said —" 

Jason raises his eyebrow *higher* — 

And Bruce flares *his* nostrils and pauses tangibly, giving himself over to obviously *deep* thought. 

Jason takes the time to enjoy the feel of his shadows touching him — 

To enjoy the feel of the few shadows still coiling and teasing themselves with Bruce's strong fingers — 

To enjoy *Bruce*, because the boy is *his* liege, and Jason will only make him *more* so as time passes, more and more and — 

"You... wore silk around Father a great deal." 

*More*. Jason smiles and inclines his head. "And wool and chain mail. Though, to be fair, the latter had a great deal to do with the fact that your home was often quite *infested* while your mother was alive." 

Bruce blinks — and then narrows his eyes. "The way you spoke about the beings drawn to the Manor..." 

"Yes, my liege?"

"You intimated that most of them would *not* attack me — at least not in ways designed to permanently injure me. Was the same true for my other ancestors?"

"Yes —" 

"Was Mother the true target? Was Father's death *incidental*?" And the way Bruce is narrowing his eyes — 

The *dark* heat in them — 

There is, quite frankly, no way to be *certain* which prospect angers him *more* — and that is... perfect. But. 

Jason holds up two fingers and recalls the shadow which had allowed Bruce to see through his glamour — 

Bruce nods *impatiently* — 

"I believed for quite some time that Martha was the true target. It suited — *well* — my rage and grief to believe that she in *particular* was being taken, and being taken from *me*." 

"Yes —" 

"And, as you've noted, there was the matter of the supernatural target on her *back* during the course of her life *here*," Jason says, and shakes his head. "I asked her — *begged* her — *many* times to use her influence with Thomas to convince him to move all of you somewhere else. *Anywhere* else — even if it had to be some of the unused space in Wayne Tower, which is only *saved* from being *just* like Wayne Manor in terms of metaphysical malignance by the fact that so many *happy* people work there and leave their positive energies swirling around the place." Jason sighs and closes his eyes for a moment — and only for a moment. "Martha refused, of course. She wanted to leave *her* mark on this place, and I cannot say I don't understand that —" 

"Did *that* make her more of a target?" 

"Oh, yes. But only to a small extent. What *truly* made it so necessary to constantly *patrol* these grounds and commit murder over and over and *over* again... was the fact that she did not allow your father to... mark her," Jason says, and asks himself — deeply and seriously — whether he *wants* Bruce to ask the inevitable question. 

On the one hand, he's been vastly enjoying Bruce's curiosity, and the opportunity to *speak* about the things which have been lurking in his heart for so *long*. On the other hand — 

No, Bruce has shown hardly any signs whatsoever of balking at the *increasingly* Gothic nature of his family history. He has, instead, pushed *on*, asking for — *demanding* — more and more and *more* honesty from Jason. More truth. More *secrets* — 

And there is an addiction building within Jason for telling them. For *giving* them — and for giving them to his liege. And so, truly, the question becomes — 

"What... what do you mean by *marking* her, Jason?" 

— at what point will Bruce *understand* the fact that Jason is *always* on his knees? Jason shakes it off for the moment, and smiles ruefully. "I am a blood-mage, as I have said —" 

"He was supposed to *wound* her?" 

Jason holds up two fingers. 

"I — I'll wait," Bruce says, frowning at Jason — and undoubtedly thinking *usefully* awful thoughts about his home. 

Thoughts Jason could take *advantage* of — were he not *bound* in every *important* way to tell the absolute truth. Jason sighs internally. "Blood-mages are most powerful — and can do the most impressive things *with* their power — when blood is let *around* us. However, this does *not* mean that other bodily fluids do not have power of their own in the hands of a sufficiently *skilled* blood-mage... or some other being with *similar* abilities," Jason says, and raises an eyebrow. 

Bruce rears back and *starts* to shake his head — and then stops and nods thoughtfully. "Mother would have been *less* endangered had her relationship with Father been more positive." 

"Just so, my liege." 

Bruce's gaze is *distant* for a moment — but only for a moment before he focuses on Jason again... and raises his own eyebrow. 

Jason laughs softly. "I did tell her that, yes. Her response was... colourful, to say the least." 

Bruce's expression gains a *pained* degree of wryness. "Did she not find Father attractive, at *all*?" 

"Oh, I would *not* say that, my liege. She even quite enjoyed making love with him the few times she allowed it to happen —" 

"Then why *didn't* she allow it to happen more *often*? I — if only for her own safety," Bruce says, but... he's blushing. 

More importantly, he's actually looking *away*, which is something that has happened rather *desperately* rarely, even when Bruce has been asking about Martha's *direct* sexual habits. It — "Bruce...?" 

"I..." Bruce swallows and shakes his head, turning to walk *into* his bedroom at last. 

For a long moment, he only fidgets, straightening things which need no straightening at all, pacing and breathing too harshly — 

No. 

"My liege, please leave your shame with me," Jason says, spreading his arms and opening his *hands*. "Whatever it is." 

Bruce doesn't *look* at him — but he does still himself. Jason can see him frowning *direfully* at the *floor*. 

"My liege, it is *well*. Whatever —" 

"I wanted. I wanted a sibling," Bruce says, small and almost *grumbling* — but far more shamed than anything else. 

"That is a *natural* desire —" 

"I — I *begged* Mother — even though she didn't want —" 

"That is a natural *action*, my liege. And you did not *know* of her desires," Jason says, moving close and cupping Bruce's *tense* shoulders — 

"I wanted. I wanted to give her everything, Jason." 

"Of course you did —" 

"She gave *me* —" 

"She gave you what she could, *when* she could," Jason says, and begins to *massage* Bruce's shoulders. 

"I — it was wrong to *pressure* —" 

"You did no such thing, my liege." 

"But —" 

"You did no. Such. Thing. It is a *common* desire in children that their parents provide for them a younger sibling —" 

"I. I wanted. An older sibling." 

"... that. That is *less* common, but —" 

Bruce laughs, quiet and breathy and low, and then looks up to meet Jason's gaze. "You understand this, don't you?" 

"My liege?" 

"This — *this* desire. This *specific* desire to have never *hurt* Mother, or caused her to doubt herself, or — or — you *do* understand, don't you?" 

Jason smiles ruefully and cups Bruce's face again. "I do, yes. And it, too, is perfectly natural. It's part of something called survivor's guilt —" 

"I. I've studied that," Bruce says. *Flatly*. 

"Yes? You don't believe in it?" 

Bruce frowns. "It's seemed... it's seemed like too much," Bruce says, rather *cryptically* — no. 

Jason need *not* be a complete fool. "It's seemed as though it would *excuse* too much of your own 'poor behaviour'. Yes?" 

"*Yes*, and —" Bruce shakes his head. "Some things — some *deaths* —" 

"Bruce. Did we or did we *not* establish that *you* are not to blame for —" 

Bruce inhales *sharply* — and narrows his eyes. 

And *growls* — 

And then stops, *stills* the mild tremor that had been under his skin, and looks up to meet Jason's gaze once more. 

"*Yes*, my liege, like *that* —" 

"Jason." 

"Yes?" 

"What. What *happens* to me in the universes where I *don't* have you to help me understand how — how much I've been *manipulated*?" 

That... hm. Oh, dear...

"Was that a difficult question?" 

Jason bites the tip of his tongue. "Yes and no, my liege," he says, and strokes his fingers into Bruce's hair for a moment before moving his hands back to Bruce's shoulders. "The Jason Blood who insisted — in the only ways which *could* work on one such as me — that I come to you *told* me that you would become a vigilante. That it was something you worked towards — with *terrifying* degrees of success — in nearly every universe where you *existed*." 

"Because of the deaths of my parents," Bruce says, and it isn't a question in the slightest. 

Jason inclines his head anyway. 

"Because... because of the *manner* of their deaths, and the fact that the murders weren't solved, and the fact that it was so..." Bruce narrows his eyes again. "Allowing them a gentle death would, perhaps, not... drive me quite so much?" 

Jason smiles ruefully. "I do not yet know you well enough to answer that question, my liege." 

Bruce *blinks* — but then nods slowly. "There is the question of the Bat, as well." 

Oh, yes. 

"The Bat..." Bruce clenches his fists for a moment — and then relaxes them, meeting Jason's gaze evenly. "The other Jason knew about the Bat." 

"Yes, my liege." 

"Other Bruces have been possessed by the same... creature." 

Creature — *not* being. That... Jason licks his *teeth*. "They have been possessed, my liege, and the creature possessing them has been of the darkling class, but..." Jason shakes his head. "I do not know if it's the same creature." 

"I believe I would like for you to find out, Jason." 

"Yes, my liege —" 

"I believe..." And Bruce looks thoughtful again. *Distant* again. 

Jason *forces* himself to patience — 

"This is the first time I have ever been tempted to reevaluate my desire to become a vigilante," Bruce says, quiet and wondering and *bitter* all at once. 

Jason *squeezes* Bruce's shoulders. "It is a natural question — *series* of questions — to ask." 

"Is it — no. No. I know it is," Bruce says, stepping away from Jason and moving to the large windows, before standing straight and folding his arms behind his back. It's a pose Thomas had used often — the man had a natural *gift* for the trappings of command — but on Bruce... 

On Bruce, it's less pose than *positioning*; less trappings than simple *fact* — 

Though there *is* the distinct possibility that Jason is *thoroughly* besotted.

With only the small bedside lamp lit, there is little enough glare thrown on the windows, and the view of the darkly beautiful Wayne grounds is — 

"I'm going to ask Alfred to move us into Gotham proper." 

Jason doesn't bother to swallow his gasp. "That... that makes me very happy, my liege —" 

"Unless." And Jason can see Bruce's reflection frowning — 

He quiets the pound of his *heart* — "Yes?" 

"I'm not convinced we shouldn't move to another city entirely," Bruce says, and frowns more deeply. 

"Ah... well..." Jason coughs a soft laugh — 

"What is it?" 

"I believe you would find it... difficult to live anywhere else, my liege." 

"How so?" 

"Your great-great-great-grandmother Anne traveled extensively in her youth, and fully intended to keep that up for the length of her existence. However, once her younger brother — and the designated heir — William died..." Jason smiles ruefully. "Anne was the only Wayne left... and every attempt she made to take *extended* holidays ended — somehow — with her traveling *right* back home." 

Bruce blinks at *Jason's* reflection in the window. "That's acutely horrifying." 

Jason spreads his hands. "Should I ever have the opportunity to communicate with Hezekiah's soul, I promise to spend at least a *small* amount of time sharing your complaints." 

Bruce smiles wryly. "And the complaints of every last one of his *other* descendants, Jason?" 

"Well. Not *all* of them have been unhappy with the status quo, such as it is. Your grandfather Jonah, as an example —" 

"I hated him," Bruce says, and turns away from the window again. "I've never admitted that before — though Mother actively encouraged me to do so, and to do the same about *her* father — but I feel..." He shakes his head. "I don't want any more lies, Jason. No matter how *correct* they seem to be." 

"Certainly, I would have no lies between *us*, my liege —" 

"But you would have me lie to others?" 

Jason inclines his head. "There is utility in such things. *Always* — and unfortunately." 

Bruce's expression is stubborn and *dark* — 

"Do you not believe me?" 

Bruce's expression grows *darker* — 

Jason raises an *eyebrow* — 

And the darkness blows away with the suddenness of a summer storm, leaving a distinctly *rueful* smile. "Of course I believe you. I've had more than enough time to observe my... peers and all the ways they find to negotiate their social lives. And then there are the ways the adults negotiate *their* social lives, and *professional* lives..." Bruce shakes his head. "Everyone is a liar." 

Jason inclines his head. 

"Is it so wrong that I don't want to *join* them?" 

Oh... "No, my liege," Jason says, and moves close once more, cupping Bruce's face with *one* hand and stroking his cheek with his thumb. "Still... you have responsibilities." 

"To the company, and the charity, yes. And..." Bruce's expression darkens again — but only for a moment before he gazes up at Jason thoughtfully. "Jason, how important are my responsibilities to *you*?" 

Jason blinks. "I believe it would be a mistake for you to make *drastic* decisions about a multinational corporation while you're emotional —" 

"No, Jason, how do you *feel* about it? How do you feel about Wayne Enterprises, and the Foundation, and about my — my manufactured *destiny* to lead both of them? Is it *important* to you?" And the *passion* in Bruce's eyes — 

In Bruce's *voice* — 

Jason *would* be a fool not to recognize the importance of that question, and so it is *not* a surprise that a part of him is struggling for a lie — or at least a properly *manipulative* truth. Something that would *free* him from the responsibility of the *question*, from the responsibility of having become this *important* to a *child*. But... 

But Bruce is his liege, and is owed rather more than that. Jason inclines his head. "I am yours, Bruce, and I will *be* yours until the end of your days — whether or not you choose to take the reins of Wayne Enterprises and the Wayne Foundation. I will be yours if you decide to devote yourself to painting watercolours in the middle of Grant Park. I will be yours if you decide that what you'd *truly* like to do with your life is to take up selling your *arse* in *Perrineau* Park —"

Bruce *coughs* — 

"I will be yours even if you decide that you want to do *nothing* with your life but piss it away in drink and whatever new and exciting chemicals your species invents in its continued efforts to find ways to destroy their brain cells —" 

"I —" 

"Wait, Bruce. Please." 

Bruce blinks and swallows — and nods. 

Jason smiles ruefully. "I will be disappointed should you do the first. I will be worried *sick* should you do the second — though, also, *somewhat* amused and *deeply* aroused. And I will be *heartbroken* should you do the last — and none of the above has anything to do with some set idea in my mind of what you *should* be doing with your life — no. That's not quite right," Jason says, and licks his teeth. 

Bruce takes a deep breath, and squares his admirably broad shoulders. "Please tell me, Jason." 

"You are brilliant, Bruce. You are kind, and wise, and witty, and brave, and open-minded, and truthful, and *noble* in ways which have absolutely *nothing* to do with the ever-shifting — and ever-*pathetic* — conceptions of class and *everything* to do with the *light* that shines from you..." Jason laughs quietly and shakes his head. "My liege. Even *Guthlac* knew that there were people in this world — and others — who were, quite simply, *born* for greater things." 

Bruce swallows. "That. That seems — a dangerous point of view." 

"Does it...?" 

"I — I — *yes*, Jason. I — any *number* of megalomaniacs and warlords and — and *dictators* have *started* with that point of view!" 

"Well... that's true enough —" 

"But I'm *different*?" 

"Put simply? Yes." 

Bruce stares at him. *Incredulously*. 

Jason laughs *hard* — 

"*Jason* —" 

"Oh, I — mm. One moment," Jason says, laughing himself down to a sighing hum — 

"I don't believe this is a laughing *matter* —" 

"Bruce. Dear one. My *liege*." And Jason *pins* Bruce with something of a *look*. 

"Yes, Jason?" 

"*Order* me to never — ever — allow you to trample on your own morality as you seek for that which you desire in life. *Whatever* it is you *come* to desire in life." 

Bruce inhales sharply — and then nods once before pulling on presence once more. Age. *Command*. "Jason. You will *always* hold me back from the places I must not *go*." 

Jason *pants* once — "As you *say*, my liege." And then he raises an eyebrow. 

Bruce takes a *shuddering* breath — "It's truly that simple?" 

Jason gestures languidly with the hand he *isn't* using to stroke Bruce's beautiful face. "It's the dirty little secret of the multiverse — well. *One* of them. Some things truly *are* simple — so much so that hardly *anyone* can truly believe in their simplicity." 

"And so they complicate their lives in ways which are... unnecessary?" 

"Just so." 

Bruce nods thoughtfully — and then turns, abruptly, and kisses the center of Jason's palm. 

"Oh — thank you, my liege." 

"Thank *you*," Bruce says, and smiles wryly once more. "I believe I was in danger of... hm. 'Throwing the baby out with the bathwater' is an excessively gruesome idiom." 

"But it *does* get the point across." 

Bruce hums *noncommittally* — and kisses Jason's palm once more — 

"Do you like doing that?" 

"Yes," Bruce says, and cups Jason's hand in both of his own — "Yes, I do." He *licks* Jason's palm. 

Jason lets himself gasp *precisely* as sharply as his body wants to. "Do you like *that*...?" 

"Yes. I like. You don't taste like me." 

Jason laughs quietly. "Amazingly enough — oh." 

Bruce licks a *long* stripe from Jason's knuckles to his wrist. "It seems... I realize that was a puerile statement." 

"Not truly. And I would like to state, for the record, that if all thirteen-year-olds were as well-read as you are — nnh —" 

Bruce is *biting* Jason's wrist — he stops. "Yes?"

Jason laughs again. "We could talk some *other* time, my liege." 

Bruce's smile is small, and bright, and hungry, and happy, and dirty, and *evil* all at once. 

"You are *beautiful*, my liege." 

"The feeling is entirely mutual, Jason... and I find myself deeply curious about how you were going to finish that statement," he says, and turns Jason's wrist *over* — 

"Will you bite me again?" 

"Not yet." And Bruce looks at him *expectantly*. 

Jason grins *helplessly*. "Very well. What I was going to say: If all thirteen-year-olds were as well-read as you are, perverts like myself would grow lazy and *terribly* weak of mind as we lost our motivation to come up with *excuses* to shag you all breathless." 

Bruce's jaw drops *slightly* — 

"Yes...?" 

And then Bruce blushes and licks his lips. "I... had forgotten the statutory rape aspects of... this." 

"Had you?" 

Bruce gives him a *look*. "Are you asking me if I was allowing those aspects to arouse me further, Jason?" 

Jason laughs *more*. "Perhaps a *little*," he says, and pinches two fingers on his free hand together. "*I* certainly was. And *am*." 

And Bruce... studies him again. For a *long* moment. 

Jason leaves himself *utterly* open for it — 

"I believe you'd like for me to develop this... kink." 

Well... "*I* believe you have some *passing* familiarity with it already, my liege," Jason says, and raises an eyebrow.

Bruce's expression turns wry. "You're determined to keep me from viewing my years with the Bat in any way positively." 

"Not so, my liege. I wish you to *treasure* every moment of pleasure you have *ever* been given, *precisely* because I know those moments have been *meagre* and *few*. But..." Jason raises an eyebrow. "You have said many, many things today which *strongly* suggest that that *creature* was doing its *level* best to *crimp* your sexuality like the shoreline of a *fjord*." 

"That... is vivid." 

"And accurate...?" 

Bruce's laugh is a breath. "I don't know." 

"Dear one —" 

"I don't know what's normal and what's abnormal, Jason. I don't know what's perverse and what's simply *interesting*. I don't know what counts as romantic and passionate versus what counts as obsessive and *frightening*. I know what *I* consider perverse and frightening, but I hear the other boys joking about things just like it on a daily *basis* — joking as if they've either done those things or *want* to do those things more than anything *else*. I know what's *legal* in this state — and in many others — but many of the acts which seem most basic and fundamental and — and *average* are *illegal*. Even between consenting adults!" 

"One should rarely base one's sexuality *solely* on that which is legal —" 

"No, I — I already understood *that*," Bruce says, and laughs ruefully. "Or I thought I did. Father explained homosexuality to me when I was six, and Leslie explained it further when I was ten, and she had to forcibly *remove* me from her clinic waiting room to get me to stop *interrogating* the young male prostitutes who were there waiting for care —" 

Jason *coughs* a laugh — 

And Bruce hums. "Yes, in retrospect that was rather..." He shakes his head. "They were very kind to me. I've thought... I've wondered..." 

"Yes, my liege?" 

Bruce frowns thoughtfully, *stroking* Jason's wrist with his strong fingers. 

Jason spares a moment to think about telling Bruce how arousing that is — 

To seduce *that* way, and the scent of Bruce's rising arousal in the air is impossible to *escape*, thick and heady and *tempting* — 

Bruce would *welcome* another orgasm or two — but. He would also welcome the chance to think, and speak, and discover, and *learn*. And to do all of the above with someone who will not ever hurt him. Though... 

Does he believe that, yet? 

Does he have that *faith* in Jason and everything he *is*? 

Jason wants to *give* that to him, wants to find some quick and bloody and *dramatic* way —

But of course that sort of thing didn't work in the *ninth* century, either. Time must be taken to prove oneself, and one's intentions, and one's abilities, and one's usefulness, and one's *character*. 

One? Must be *patient*. And that is precisely what Jason will do, even as he lets far, far, *far* too much of his heart soar off on dreams of being loved as he loves — 

Being touched just *like* this — 

Being — 

"I've wondered about the *dangers* of prostitution," Bruce says, *precisely* out of nowhere — no. Jason is *capable* of concentrating. 

"It has nearly always been a dangerous profession, my liege. Though in *some* societies, in some eras, it has been precisely as honoured as it *should* be." 

Bruce blinks and looks up at him — "*You* honour the profession." 

"Of course. I have *countless* wonderful memories of hours whiled away in the company of one doxy or another," Jason says, and grins. 

"Is that the correct —" 

Jason laughs hard. "It *was* the correct term. *Once*. A *long* time ago. In *one* place. For *some* doxies — and for some of the people who frequented them. Now..." Jason gestures *half* a shrug. "As in all things, it is *always* best to ask the individual in question what she, or he, or whatever gender they are which exists between, beyond, or *above* the conventional binary... well. It's best to ask." 

Bruce stares at him. 

"Yes, my liege?" 

"I have many questions." 

Jason grins *more*. "You should feel free to ask *all* of them." 

Bruce licks his lips — "I..." 

"Yes?" 

"About..." Bruce frowns and *grips* Jason's wrist — 

Jason lets himself *sigh*. "About bondage, perhaps?" 

"Oh — *no*."

"All right —" 

"But *yes*." 

Jason laughs. "Any questions, my liege. *All* questions," he says, and taps Bruce's swollen lower lip with two fingers. "I am *entirely* at your —" 

"Will you still desire me when I'm an adult?" 

Jason *coughs* again — but that is an *entirely* reasonable question, given everything Bruce does and does *not* know about him at this point. "Yes, my liege," Jason says, and thinks about simply smiling wryly — no. A detailed answer would be *useful* at this point. "I have taken many lovers when they have been your age — or younger — and, in general, I have *kept* them. For as long as *possible*. I am... a constant man." And he raises an eyebrow. 

Bruce raises one *back* — and then blinks and looks thoughtful. "Long-term relationships are more... comforting? Staying with someone for the entire length of their lives... hm." 

"Yes?" 

"I would think it would be *more* difficult in some ways, Jason," Bruce says, and frowns up into his eyes. "I would think... the repetitiveness of watching your lovers age and die..." And Bruce frowns more deeply and squeezes Jason's wrist *comfortingly*. 

Jason smiles ruefully. "There is that, and I will never claim that the *pain* of that isn't vast and terrible —" 

"Then —" 

"*But*. The alternative of constantly flitting like some mindless butterfly from one 'lover' to another, of never truly coming to *know* the people one is *theoretically* sharing one's existence with — and *not* one's life, because to share a life, one must be ready, willing, and able to give everything, every hope and dream and wish and *fear* —" And Jason stops himself with a laugh. "A moment, please, dear one. I must collect my thoughts," Jason says, and smiles ruefully again. 

Bruce nods solemnly. "This is one of your passions." 

"*This*... is the passion on which I build the *rest* of my life, dear one. Without it, the rest is the endless encroachment of dust and bone and *age*."

"Without... love?" 

"Without love for which you would give *all* of yourself," Jason corrects. "I can — and have, and will *again* — survive solely on the drive and necessity to do what I can to contribute to the health and happiness of the people who live on this plane of existence, but surviving is *not* living. To live, one must have something for which one will make deep and meaningful *sacrifice*. *Painful* sacrifice —" 

"I — must love involve *pain*? *Suffering*?" 

Jason smiles ruefully. "Yes." 

"*Why*, Jason?"

"I *could* give you answers to that question, but they would be only theories. The bleatings and excuses of a mind which does not — truly — *care* about the question anymore." 

"But —" 

Jason raises two fingers. "There are better questions, I think."

Bruce takes a deep breath and nods. "Please tell me." 

Jason inclines his head. "These: What does it mean to be alive? What does it *feel* like? What does it look and sound and taste and *smell* like? What would you do if you *lost* those sensations? What would you do to get them *back*?" 

And there is silence for a long moment, except for their breathing. *Jason's* breathing is as even — as non-*pressuring* — as he can make it. *Bruce's* is thoughtful and nearly *meditative*... which, along with everything *else* he's seen of Bruce today, is the sort of thing which speaks *strongly* of a future in which Bruce will have the sort of control... 

But Jason is not going to let himself think of that *just* yet — 

He still wants to have *something* resembling the ability to think of *other* things — 

"Jason..."

"Yes, dear one?" 

"You have been... numb. Haven't you." And, again, it's not a question — but. 

"I have, my liege." 

"I've never been numb," Bruce says, and meets Jason's eyes, steady and firm. "I've never been numb, and I have *wished* for it. Many times." 

"That is understandable. But —" 

"It's terrible. Isn't it." 

Jason inclines his head. "Humanity may yet find a way to free themselves of suffering without also freeing themselves of pleasure, and joy, and hope, and *life*... but that has not yet occurred, my liege." 

Bruce narrows his eyes *slightly* — "I don't believe you would take that solution even if it did exist." 

"I —" 

"I believe you've come to cherish your pain as much as your pleasure." 

Well. Jason smiles ruefully again. "If you wish, my liege, I will give you a moment of numbness — *true* numbness. I believe that will be enough —" 

Bruce *grips* Jason's wrist — 

"As an aside, I truly do enjoy that *immensely* —" 

"Jason. Tell me what I must do to free you of numbness."

Jason blinks. "You *have*, my liege —" 

"Tell me what I must do to *keep* you free of it for as long as I *live*," Bruce says — nearly *growls* — 

And Jason knows that he has made his point, and, perhaps, made it better than he had intended. He covers Bruce's hand on his wrist. "You are a passionate boy..." 

"Mother always said the same. Tell me —" 

"Let me live in you, my liege." 

Bruce blinks — 

And Jason smiles wryly, feeling the *weight* of his own manipulation — and his own endless, endless need. 

And need to *live*. 

"Let me live in you, and, when you cannot stand that —" 

"I —" 

"Let me live *with* you." 

"I *want* that —" 

"And when you cannot stand *that*, my liege, let me live *near* you, close enough to your light, and life, and *passion* that I may *feel* it," Jason says, and he knows he's baring his *teeth*, but — 

But. 

"And, my liege, when you cannot stand even that... well. Let me live *for* you." And Jason squeezes Bruce's hand on his wrist — 

Encourages *Bruce* to squeeze *tighter* — 

"I am yours." 

And for a long moment, Bruce only stares at him, wondering and *shocked*. 

Jason smiles gently. "I believe I've made you understand me... to a certain extent." 

Bruce *shivers* — and blinks, at long last. "I want... that." 

"Yes? What precisely do you wish? Everything is —" 

"I want to *feel* that. What *you* feel. I want — I *will* feel that," Bruce says, and grips Jason's wrist still *tighter*. 

Oh... yes. "There is *no* drug like true devotion, my liege," Jason says, and licks his *teeth*. "Please, allow me to show you *all* of my ecstasies." 

Bruce flushes, deep and *complete* — 

Bruce *pants* — 

Bruce *growls* — "I don't *know* enough about sexuality!" 

"I will *teach* —" 

"I want to already —" Bruce growls *again*. "This is the appropriate time for — for some action which would *serve* as a declaration —" 

"A kiss would be —" 

"A kiss isn't *enough*!" 

Jason takes a breath — and smiles, making a point of showing *many* teeth. "I submit to you, my liege, that there are many kisses which you have not yet learned." 

Bruce *blinks* — and blushes very deeply indeed.

"Yes...?" 

"I... am thinking about kisses." 

Jason licks his lips *somewhat* showily. "Perhaps I can —" 

"I'm thinking of all the places I can *be* kissed," Bruce says, and blushes even *more* deeply — 

There's *sweat* at his temples — 

And Jason can hear his heart pounding. It — 

Jason reaches out and rests his palm flat on Bruce's chest, wanting to cup, to hold, to *squeeze* — 

To feel blood *sheeting* down — 

And now he is very, very, *very* hard. "Let me kiss you *many* places, my liege." 

"Not... everywhere?" 

The interesting thing, to a part of Jason's mind, is that he does not believe he will have *any* difficulty encouraging his liege to make love to *many* different people. After all, at least *some* of those people will — hopefully — be fertile women...

Women who can, with Bruce's eager and, eventually, *thoroughly* skilled assistance, produce *children* who can be raised to be *precisely* as *wonderful* — 

And Jason leans in and *licks* Bruce's ear — and then kisses it slowly, messily, and just a *bit* nastily. 

Bruce *grunts* —

"I don't believe..." 

"Y-yes, Jason?" 

"I don't believe I'll have the time to kiss you everywhere, my liege..." And breathes *hotly* — 

Bruce clutches Jason's wrist *convulsively* — "I don't want you to leave." 

Jason growls. "I assure you that I have no desire to —" 

"Must. Must Etrigan take you?" 

That — Jason winces. "My liege... my soul is not wholly my own. If I *attempt* to treat it that way... there are difficulties." 

Bruce steps back and searches him. "How long? How long will you be gone?" 

"I — at least twelve hours. It will almost certainly be closer to sixteen to twenty, as Etrigan's business usually takes him to more than *one* hell-dimension at a time —"

"And. And then you'll come back?" Eagerness. Need. Hope. *Fear* — 

Jason *shivers* — and lets his smile be fierce. "And then, my liege, I will move *in*." 

"*Oh* —" 

"And begin the process of helping you choose what you will bring with you when you move *out* —" 

"And you'll come *with* me — but."

"Yes, my liege?" 

"We could — where do *you* live in Gotham?" 

Jason laughs happily. "*Quite* close to Perrineau Park, actually, though not facing on it. You'll want something bigger than the houses in *my* neighborhood, though." 

"I — I don't *need* another massive —" Bruce growls and shakes his head. "There's too *much* space here, Jason. I feel *lost* in this house —"

Jason presses two fingers to Bruce's mouth. "Consider... housemates."

Bruce blinks rapidly several times — 

Jason smiles slowly and moves his fingers — 

"Other... other than you?" 

"Oh, yes." 

"But... who?" 

Jason hums. "*That* I have not yet decided, my liege. But... well. The Jason Blood who visited me earlier today was *quite* clear about there being a *number* of people who, time and again, *gravitate* to your side —" 

"Oh — *oh*. I'll have *friends*?" 

"Allies. Lovers. Family. Companions of the *spirit* —" 

"You'll help me?" 

"My liege, according to the other Blood, you will not *need* my help with *those* individuals —" 

"I —" 

"But I will be there," Jason says, and smiles gently. "I will always be at your side, or at your back, or at your *feet*. Wherever you will, whenever you will it." 

Bruce stares at him with wide eyes again, and — 

"My liege... you look so very young when you look at me like that." 

"That seems... correct. At least in this moment."

"Yes?"

Bruce smiles ruefully. "I'm thinking of fairy tales, Jason." 

Jason laughs. "Well. I suppose that's *fair*... but." 

"Yes, Jason?" 

Jason gestures, peeling his glamour down to shadows, and peeling the shadows away from his body —

Bruce makes a small and *delightfully* hungry noise —

"I am not one of the Fair Folk, my liege," Jason says, and tugs — gently — at Bruce's necktie. 

"I find I disagree with that assessment, Jason." 

"Bruce." 

Bruce hums. "Additionally..." Bruce smiles and raises an eyebrow. "You should always assume that you have permission to remove my neckties." 

Jason laughs *darkly*. "You really *shouldn't* say *that* sort of thing, my liege," he says, and opens the tie at *speed*. 

"No...?" 

"I find myself imagining doing this —" And Jason makes himself invisible to *human* eyes — 

"Oh — where?" 

— and moves behind Bruce, cupping his right pectoral muscle with one hand and his *cock* with the other — 

"*Nnh* —" 

"Here, my liege," Jason says, and laughs into Bruce's blushing, blushing ear. "Go on. Give me permission for other things." 

Bruce *pants* — "I — I *didn't* give you permission for *this* —" 

"But you could. You could... and I could visit you in your *dreadfully* dull classes..."

"*Oh* —" 

"I could work your *dreary* little uniform pants open — like so —" 

"Jason — *Jason* —" 

"And reach in where you're hottest — *second*-hottest, I should say —" 

Bruce groans and *shakes* — 

"Will you buck into my fist, my liege?" 

Bruce grits his *teeth* — and then blinks as if something has *stunned* him. 

"Yes...?" 

"I... can enjoy this. I can... there's nothing to *stop* me from enjoying it." 

"I certainly *hope* not," Jason says, and gives Bruce a *teasing* squeeze — 

"Nnh — no, I — wait," Bruce says, reaching for him, *fumbling* for him until he's gripping *both* of Jason's wrists. 

Jason sighs and *flexes* his wrists — 

"Oh... oh, that feels —" Bruce squeezes *very* hard, indeed — 

And Jason laughs. "Yes, my liege, *hold* me. *Control* me." 

Bruce shudders. "I want — you're making me want everything at once again," he says, laughing, as well, and stepping back, *pressing* his body against Jason's own — 

"*That* feeling is entirely mutual —" 

"But you have no difficulty *prioritizing* your desires, Jason!" 

"You'd think so... but." 

Bruce turns, very clearly trying to *face* Jason — 

Jason laughs again and makes his appearance *flicker* — 

"*Oh* — I. That's something of a tease." 

"Do you like it?" 

Bruce licks his lips. "I like. I want. I want to give you... an order." 

Jason flickers his *smile* at Bruce... 

"Oh... and now I find myself wondering if I should be wearing a dress with petticoats and conversing with drug-addicted caterpillars." 

"We could *try* that..." 

"Jason." 

Jason laughs and kisses Bruce's forehead — and licks the sweat away. "Everything, my liege. And anything." 

Bruce *pants* — and sighs. "In truth, I want to give you *many* orders." 

"*Good* —" 

Bruce tightens his grip impressively — and just a *little* painfully. "That's what you prefer. Sexually." 

And that was, actually, a question. So. "It is what I prefer with *some*, my liege —" 

"With those who have been your lieges?" 

"With *some* of those who have been my lieges," Jason says, and kisses Bruce's ear twice — 

Again when Bruce *frowns* — 

"You didn't like that answer." 

"I want... more consistency." 

"You may have what you wish of me —" 

"I want your *pleasure*, Jason!" 

"You have it right now —" 

"But — *nnh* —" 

And Jason *sucks* Bruce's earlobe to soothe where he's nipped. "I understand why it may be difficult to believe such a thing, but you *will* have my pleasure no matter *how* you choose to make love with me, my liege. *That* is how I *work*... with the people to whom I have pledged myself." 

Bruce inhales sharply — and then raises an eyebrow. And that... 

Jason laughs *richly*. "And now you're *deeply* tempted to find a way to be *contrary* — no, do *not* deny it —" 

"I wasn't going to —" 

"*Good*," Jason says, licking Bruce's ear and then flickering his appearance enough that Bruce can see him moving in to lick and suck at the little bit of his throat that's exposed — 

"Oh — I like that —" 

"And that's good, *too*, my liege," Jason says, and drags his teeth along Bruce's jaw. "But not *as* good — for me — as the fact that you are your *mother's* son —" 

Bruce grunts *loudly* — 

Jason growls a laugh. "Oh, yes, my liege. Perhaps it's occurred to you how very much *more* I belonged to her than I belonged to your father...?" 

Bruce pants more — 

His heart is *pounding* under Jason's hand — and Jason is clawing at Bruce's chest through his shirt, tugging at the buttons even though Bruce is still gripping his *wrist* — "Please," he says, and that — no, that wasn't *sincere* enough. "*Please*." 

"I — *show* yourself!" 

Jason's cock twitches *hard* — and he does just that. "As you say, my liege," he says, and tugs at Bruce's grip — 

Tugs *lightly* until Bruce *releases* him — 

And then he moves back around in front of Bruce... and crosses his arms behind his back.

Bruce's nostrils flare once more — "Pleasure me." 

"As you wish. Do you have any —" 

"Show me —" Bruce licks his lips and flushes again, *sweats* more — "Show me something *new*." 

Tempting to ask if Bruce means something new with Jason's powers or something new in *general* — 

Tempting to ask for *some* sort of specification — 

Tempting to, in short, *tease*. But nowhere *near* as tempting as it is to gesture his shadows toward Bruce, to strip him quickly and *efficiently* — 

"*Oh* — I want your *hands*, Jason!" 

"Then you shall —" 

"No — is this *faster*?" 

Jason gives himself a moment to *consider* — and another to be *realistic*. "Yes, my liege. I would *not* be able to focus *entirely* on stripping you were I using my hands," Jason says, and smiles ruefully as the shadows fold Bruce's jacket over a chair — 

And lift him off his feet and out of his shoes and socks —

And trousers and *briefs* — 

And Bruce groans impatiently. "I'm — that just makes me want more *things* —" 

"You'll have everything — in time," Jason says, and gestures again — 

"Oh — are the shadows —" 

"They're carrying you to the bed, my liege. They're really wonderful inventions, you know." 

Bruce's laugh is a *panted* breath as the *slowest* shadow tugs his shirt away — "I'm reasonably sure there were beds a thousand years ago —" 

"Oh, yes, and nearly every last *one* of them was *infested*. Often with *multiple* forms of life." 

"That's rather distressing, Jason," Bruce says, and sits up on his elbows.

Jason laughs and crawls onto the bed, up and up and *up* the bed until he's nosing at Bruce's groin — 

So hard and slick and *flushed* — 

"Do you know... even as recently as *one* hundred years ago, it was *profoundly* difficult to find a mage — any sort of mage, at all — who had made it to their fifteenth year *without* learning *many* ways to exterminate certain of our fellow creatures on these Earths." 

"I —" 

Jason takes the whole of Bruce's sac into his mouth and sucks *hard* — 

And Bruce shouts, loud and shocked and *thrilled* even as he arches — 

Even as he *beats* at the bed with his *fists*. 

Well, then. 

Jason hums a cheerful tune — no, he hums a tune which stays in the *lower* registers. 

"Jason — *Jason*! I don't — that is — I'm having — illogical desires!" 

Jason pushes Bruce's thighs *wide*, rears up enough that Bruce can *see* him easily — but not enough to hurt him — and raises an eyebrow. 

"Oh. That. That's a really very *amusing* tableau. Hm." 

Jason laughs *around* Bruce's sac — 

And Bruce gurgles as his eyes roll back in his head. *Very* nice... 

Jason hums again and sucks in *soft* pulses, hopefully *encouraging* — 

"I —" Bruce groans and shudders — 

Arches — 

Arches again — 

Jason hums *approvingly* — 

And Bruce groans *more* — "Oh — but — but that's what I — mean —" 

"Mmmm?" 

Bruce shudders and reaches down to *grip* his cock, which twitches in his fist — 

Twitches *beautifully*, really, and that's worth a harder suck — 

And a harder one — 

And a *harder* one — 

"Please — *please*!" 

"Mmmm?" And Jason makes sure that there is an *evil* smile in his eyes. 

"I want — I want to thrust into your mouth!" 

Jason *nods* approvingly — 

"That is — it makes no sense!" 

Jason attempts to express 'I respectfully disagree, my dearest liege' via the heartfelt quirk of his eyebrows — 

Bruce coughs a laugh, and this one lasts for *several* panted, *ragged* breaths — 

Jason *grins* — 

Bruce *groans* — "I — I want to thrust with my *scrotum*, Jason!" 

"Hmmm..." And there's absolutely *no* reason to *stop* humming once he's started *this* time —

"Oh — oh — *oh*, Jason, please —" 

"Mm-hmm...?" 

Bruce growls and pumps — his *cock* — into his fist — 

"Mmmm...." 

"This —" Bruce growls again, moans *briefly* — "This isn't satisfying!" 

Jason blinks — 

"I — I mean it! I want — I want more for my scrotum, but I don't know how to —" 

Jason sucks *viciously* hard — 

And Bruce arches like a gymnast, gasping and *choking*. 

For a moment, Jason wants nothing more than a deeper link between them, something which would allow him to *speak* to Bruce in this moment — or at least hear his *thoughts*. 

He hasn't had such a thing with a Wayne since *Anne* — 

But... he could have it with Bruce. He — no. He *will* have it with Bruce. He can't even tell himself that he's hoping too much, or pushing too far, or dreaming too *foolishly*. He knows *himself*, and he knows the power of the manipulation he's been using. There are few things *more* powerful than this sort of thing, *especially* since he's been using nothing but *truth* — 

"Jason — oh, *Jason*!" 

And it's wonderful to *press* with his tongue, to *work* Bruce's heavy sac in his mouth — 

Already so *hairy* — 

And there are few manipulations more powerful than showing one's love — one's *target* — just how *very* much you want them — no. 

How much you *need* them. How much it makes you *ache* to have their — *their* — hairy balls in your mouth, weighting your tongue and making you *drool*. 

This — 

*This* — 

And so Jason has *many* reasons for using his shadows to force Bruce's body back down to the bed *while* lifting his head just so — 

Forcing Bruce to face him — 

Forcing Bruce to *see* him as the drool slips from the corners of his mouth and slides down his chin — 

As the flush deepens in his own face and throat — 

As the pulse *hammers* in his throat — 

This is what you do to me, my liege, Jason says with everything he is. This is my *pleasure*. 

And Bruce's eyes are wide again, dazed now and starved even as his right hand spasms on his spasming *cock*. He's having trouble *stroking* it properly, and that... 

Mm. 

Jason pulls back — 

"No — no, please —" 

"I must give you more, my liege. I must *show* you more. Unless...?" 

And there is a moment of something in Bruce's eyes that Jason would call fear in another boy. Perhaps he should *still* be calling it fear in *Bruce*, but — 

But it's so beautiful, and so innocent, and so *young* — 

So eager and open and — 

"Let me. Please." 

And Bruce nods slowly, but Jason knows that he's doing the same, that he's all but *guiding* Bruce's nods with his own — 

His own *manipulation* — 

But he will make it all right, all pleasure, all *good* — 

He will — 

He will use his *hands* to turn Bruce over onto his stomach — 

Bruce thrusts against the sheets *immediately* — 

And Jason grins at the back of Bruce's neck until he turns his cheek against the pillows enough that they can see each other. "My liege, perhaps, has a few ideas...?" 

"I. Please. *Please*." And Bruce is panting — 

*Shuddering* — 

"Jason, I — I *ache*," Bruce says, and he clenches his hands into fists — 

There are already *scars* on his knuckles — 

And Jason promises himself time to lick them all, *suck* them all, *come* on them all — 

And then he spreads Bruce's arse and licks him there — 

"*Oh*!" 

And licks him there again — 

"Jason — you're — *my* —" 

And licks him there *slowly*, as dryly as he can so that he can focus on the taste, on new and aging and *old* sweat, on musk, on the oils of a *healthy* young boy — 

Oh, but now he's growling — 

Licking and licking and *stabbing* at Bruce's tight little *arsehole* — 

"*HNH* — I — *I*!" And when Bruce *shouts* — there's more than pleasure. There is fear and confusion, as *well*.

There's temptation to simply push on — *drive* on — until the pleasure outweighs everything *else* — 

But. 

Jason hums softly and *kisses* Bruce's hole before pulling back — 

And Bruce groans, deep and shuddering and *hungry*. There's wetness on his pillow by his eyes *and* his mouth — 

He's *panting* — 

He's *shaking* — 

"My liege," Jason says, and *laps* at Bruce's hole once, twice — 

"Nuh — *oh* —" 

"This pleasure is mine as well," Jason says, because — 

"It. *Truly*?" 

— because nearly *every* virgin — and recent virgin, and virginal-*enough* individual — Jason has made love with in this way has been hesitant for *much* the same reasons —

"It — it — Jason, I don't *understand*." 

— at least for a little while. Jason smiles down at Bruce... and then licks his lips slowly and wetly. "I find you delicious, my liege," Jason says, and lengthens his tongue *slightly* before slipping it out of his mouth and letting it *hang* — 

"Unh — nnh — oh, Jason — oh, I — I can't — I can't think with you looking — hm." And Bruce blinks and *frowns*. 

Jason *rolls* his tongue back in. And shortens it again. "Yes, my liege...?" 

"I believe I'm going to be aroused when I look at certain woodcuts from now on." 

Jason *coughs* a laugh — "That's... better than the alternative, I believe." 

"*Is* it?" 

"Well, did you *like* being horribly disturbed?" 

Bruce opens his mouth — and closes it. "No. I — Jason..." 

Jason *massages* Bruce's arse. "Let me taste you more, my liege. Let me *delve* into your arse —" 

"*Oh* —" 

"Let me feel you *clenching* round me *helplessly* as your body tries and *fails* to come up with a *context* to put the sensations in —" 

"Yes! Yes, that's it! I don't — nothing's ever *felt* like that, and I'm — and you — are you sure you *like* that?" 

Jason laughs just a bit *evilly*. "My liege... have you never wished to taste every part of a lover's body...?" 

Bruce swallows and says nothing. 

"I know that nasty little demon showed you —" 

"I don't — I don't think of — my classmates aren't that *beautiful*, Jason!" 

Jason massages more firmly — and just a *little* more ruthlessly. "No...?" 

"No, I — so many — so many are very shallow and — cruel —" 

"Even the ones you've saved from bullies?" 

Bruce shivers and says nothing. 

Jason smiles *sharply*. "The quiet ones. The ones who are... mm. Perhaps a bit smaller than the rest. *Younger*." 

Bruce *inhales* sharply — 

"They're outsiders — just like you." 

"Please, I —" 

"They simply..." Jason laughs quietly and licks his lips again. "Some of them try to hide. Don't they." 

Bruce closes his eyes and says nothing — 

And pants and says nothing — 

And *squeezes* his eyes shut — "I dream. I dream so much..." 

Jason growls his *hungry* triumph — "Oh, yes? Do you touch them in your dreams, my liege?" 

"Yes," Bruce says, but it's more of a groan than anything else, and he *grinds* against the bed. "I touch them and I — I *shouldn't* —" 

"You've saved them..." 

"They shouldn't — I can't *victimize* them *further* —" 

"Of course not, my liege," Jason says, and *spreads* Bruce again, licks his lips *loudly* — 

"Oh — I — yes, you see —" 

"You have to pleasure them." 

Bruce *grunts* — 

"You have to... mn. You have to give them something wonderful, something beautiful and sweet and *dark* to replace all the *terror*." 

"Oh..." 

Jason spreads Bruce *wider*. "You have to give of *yourself*, my liege. You must show them that they are more to you than simply the symbols — the *props* — of your fundamental heroism —" 

"They never — I *wouldn't* —" 

"But you *would* touch. Yes?" 

Bruce groans. "I. I dream of kissing..." 

"Oh, yes? Where do you kiss them, my liege? *How* do you kiss them?"

"So..." Bruce swallows and grinds against the sheets again — 

Again — 

"I've seen... the Bat showed me how. How nipples can change texture as they harden. And I've felt." Bruce swallows again —

"They can feel very strange against the tongue. They can..." Jason licks his lips again. "They can make you *shiver*." 

"Need. I always. I want to *bite* —" 

Jason digs *in* with his fingers — 

Bruce *growls* — 

"Do you bite them hard, my liege? Do you *mark* them?" 

"Bruise. I... some of them have been. And they've *bled*," Bruce says, and his voice is pleading and starved at *once* — 

"Do you *taste*?" 

"*Always*," Bruce *growls* — 

"Would you taste every wound, my liege?" 

"Yes — *yes*!" 

"No matter where —"

Bruce cries out and *bucks* — "Jason. Jason, *please*!" 

"Do not resist your desires, my liege. Do not..." Jason shivers and lets himself moan aloud, long and low. "You may always be free with *me*." 

Bruce pants and *blinks* — 

"Oh, yes, my liege. Any desire. Any fantasy. Any filthy, sticky, *shameful* little dream. You need no shame with me..." 

Bruce swallows with a *loud* click. "But *is* it shameful?" 

"To desire to make love to those you save? To claim their bodies as you have claimed their *well-being*?" Jason laughs softly — and growls. "I love your *scents*, my liege. And it is said — and has been said by many, for many *thousands* of years — that once you save a man's life, you are responsible for each and every *moment* of it." 

"Oh —"

"*That* said..." And Jason sighs again. "We must always show care with our *actions*... as opposed to the *dreams* of our actions." 

Bruce swallows again and *shivers*. "I don't. I don't want to be *possessive*." 

"I'm afraid, my liege, that in some ways your desires — your will — must be thwarted." 

But Bruce smells of sadness more than amusement — 

And Jason remembers his last love. 

Remembers *Martha* — 

And remembers every last *one* of the methods Martha came up with to *discourage* Jason — and others — from trying to lay more than the very *lightest* of claims on her pale, slim shoulders. 

Well. 

Jason leans in and — doesn't slip his cock between Bruce's cheeks, though he suspects Bruce would find that more comfortable — and *comforting* — than many other options just now. He merely covers his liege, and kisses the back of his neck lightly and softly and repeatedly. 

Until he shivers — and other scents begin drowning the sadness once more. "Jason..." 

"My liege. I feel quite strongly that Martha would've reacted positively to *your* possessiveness." 

Bruce *stiffens* — 

And Jason laughs softly and leans in to whisper in Bruce's ear. "She loved you — you and *only* you. You and *always* you. From the very first moment she learned that you were growing in her belly — and I was the one who *told* her — her eyes would come over with a sharp and strong and *covetous* gleam at the very thought of you...." 

"She — not *always* —" 

"Oh, but you did not see her in the moments and minutes after you left us alone in her bedroom, my liege." And Jason licks Bruce's ear, circles it with his tongue, dips *in* — 

"Please —" 

"You never saw her *watching* you leave —" 

"I —" 

"Narrowing her beautiful grey-blue eyes and curling her deft little fingers into *claws* as she *viciously* bit back the *need* to call. You. *Back*." 

Bruce *pants* — "I would've — I never wanted to *leave*!" 

"She needed you to — at times." 

"But —"

"She never, ever *wanted* you to, my liege," Jason says, and presses Bruce down with his body. Uses his *weight*. 

"Oh... oh, Jason, I like that very much..." 

Jason purrs. "Good. Feel me, my liege, and think about how very, very much your mother dreamed of you holding her in your arms —" 

Bruce moans and *shakes* — 

"She would have me build dreams for her, my liege. Dreams of you as a *man* — or something close enough to it for —" 

"I. I..." 

Jason laughs darkly and *bites* Bruce's ear. "You'd hold her tightly enough to steal the very breath from her body..."

"And. Keep. Her?" 

"Always and forever, my liege. *Just* the way a proper son *should*," Jason says, and licks Bruce's ear, and the space behind it, and — 

"Would you tell me?" 

"Anything —" 

"Would you tell me if there was anything — anything that *should* disturb me? Anything *sexual* or — so. So. Beautiful..." Bruce turns into the pillow and *sobs* — 

"Oh, dear one —" 

But the sob becomes a growl as Bruce turns away from the pillow again, *pants* — "Please — please, I'll *want* to dream —" 

"*Anything* —" 

"But answer! Please *answer*!" 

And there is a point where manipulation must become — no. This is manipulation, too. Jason kisses Bruce's temple. "If you wish, I will *always* inform you which kinks, desires, fantasies, dreams, et *cetera* you have are considered outré, taboo, or simply *wrong*. And then I will speak to you of degree. And then? I will speak to you of how much these definitions shift between cultures, and sub-cultures, and communities *within* sub-cultures." 

Bruce inhales sharply. "There. There are no... absolutes?" 

"No, my liege. There *are* some things which come *close* to being absolutes, but the multiverse is incalculably vast. It may even be *infinite*. There is a place for all things, and those places are not so difficult to find for one such as me. In the meantime..." Jason smiles gently. "Take comfort in the lack of absolutes. It is freedom, my liege — and you have had all too little of that." 

Bruce inhales sharply again — 

Shudders and begins to *pant* — 

"I want. To dream." 

Jason feels himself *thicken* at the prospect of reaching within Bruce's mind — 

Opening a deeper *connection* — 

"Now, my liege...?" 

"I want. So much. I want — there's so much I don't know!" 

"I will teach —" 

"I — I — tell me — *touch* me!" And Jason has been with Bruce for *precisely* enough minutes and hours to know that there was as much plea in that blurt as *command* — but.

He's already pulling back so as to better *stroke* Bruce, his back and arms and shoulders — 

"More — *more*!" 

He flips Bruce over and *pinches* his small, dark nipples — 

"Oh — *yes*!" 

Jason grins and *twists* them — and pants when Bruce's mouth falls open in shock, when Bruce moans, when his slick and *dripping* cock twitches and spasms and generally — mm. "May I touch you as I please, my liege?" 

Bruce's expression is dazed for a moment, *anguished* for another — 

"May I *please* you as I please...?" And Jason shows his *teeth*. "I *promise* —" 

"Give me. Give me your *mouth* again!" 

*Jason's* cock twitches — "Yes, my liege," he says, and *moves*, *drops*, *opens* — 

"*No*," Bruce says — 

"Please —" 

But then Bruce spreads his legs and pulls his *knees* up — 

And Jason makes a rather *brokenly* animalistic noise, about which he cares nothing, because he's already burying his face in Bruce's tight little *arse* — 

"I want — you'll teach me —" 

"*Yes*," Jason slurs, licks, *fucks* — 

"Everything, Jason, I want *everything* —" 

And fucking is better than anything, so *much* better, especially once he can brace his hands on the backs of Bruce's knees — 

"This — *vulnerability* —" 

*Mine*.

And Bruce is groaning as if he could hear that, *feel* that — 

But would he react so positively to *Jason's* possessiveness? 

At what point will he *realize* how self-*serving* Jason's coaxing and *petting* about his possessiveness is? 

"Jason — Jason, *more*!" 

Hopefully sometime *after* it's much — 

Too — 

*Late*. And, to be fair, this isn't the first time he's found himself groaning and panting and *drooling* into a thirteen-year-old boy's arse — 

Or even the first time the thirteen-year-old boy in question was his *liege* — 

It's always the first time. 

It's always the first *moment*, because there is no one who has moaned for him quite like Bruce, no one who has clawed *these* sheets for him, no one who has — 

"Jason! Jason, don't *stop*!" 

And he's groaning again, *sucking* at Bruce's wet hole and dreaming — 

*Dreaming* — 

And a part of him is only dreaming of *telling* Bruce what he wants, of finding just the right words to whisper, of slipping his cock in deep and deeper and deeper than that — 

Of forcing Bruce to clench around him — 

Of stopping Bruce's cries with shadows as he fucks him harder, harder and *harder* — 

And it's no surprise that his tongue is lengthening without his permission — 

"*Please*!" 

It's no surprise that he's growling and trying to spread Bruce *wider*, trying to use his nose to *bruise* Bruce's perineum — 

Hurt — 

Oh, but he can lick his way out — 

"No —" 

*Slap* Bruce's sac with his tongue — 

"*HNH* — *Jason* —" 

Wrap it around and *squeeze* as Bruce jerks — 

Twitches and *grunts* — "Please — please *in* me!"

Jason pants and — needs. "Please, my liege, I would have your come in my mouth again," he says, and lets himself stare at Bruce's hard cock, dark cock, *slick* — 

Twitching over and *over* — 

"*Please*," Jason says, and it feels wonderful to beg, to beg knowing that he will be *heard* even if he's eventually *denied* —

Bruce moans and clutches at the sheets — 

And Jason drags his gaze up Bruce's lean, sweating body until he can meet Bruce's dazed, wide eyes with his own. "I will — I will *please* you, my liege. I will give everything —"

"*Do* it!" 

And Jason is groaning as he tugs Bruce's cock away from his abdomen, as he — no. He slicks two fingers with Bruce's *copious* pre-come and doesn't let himself sniff, or lick, or *bite* it off. He holds his fingers *up* — "You need *not* stay *empty*, my —" 

But Bruce desperate cry drowns him out — 

Bruce spreads himself still wider, wide enough that Jason can smell *pain* —

"Now — you *must*!" 

And Jason is moving, moaning and moving, loving so *much* — 

But — 

"I love you, my liege," Jason says, and *then* swallows his cock — 

And Bruce cries out *again* — 

Stiffens and jerks and *slams* his groin against Jason's *face* — and then stills with tense *perfection* as soon as Jason *touches* his slippery little hole. 

"You — Jason?" 

"Mm-hmm..." And Jason nods as he sucks — 

"Please — did you — did you mean —" 

"Mm-*hmm*..." And Jason sucks *hard* as he *pushes* with one finger —

And Bruce stiffens even more for a long moment that feels painful, *dangerous* — 

Until Jason begins to *work* himself on Bruce's thick cock, at which point Bruce begins to gasp rhythmically and shudder and twitch again — 

And flex — 

*Open*. 

Jason *crooks* his finger *immediately* — 

And Bruce's scream nearly makes Jason stop sucking to pant, to groan, to beg for more of this, just this — 

He *loves* — 

But he will please his liege *first*. He works his head *faster*, fucking his face on Bruce's cock and shuddering his finger against his prostate, taking and — 

*Taking* and he wants more, *needs* more — 

He can do *nothing* to stop his own *growl* — 

And he's glad of that when it makes Bruce start fucking him fast and hard and *brutally*. There's no true *rhythm* to speak of, and Bruce sounds *tortured* and frightened of his own pleasure — 

Jason *hums* — 

And Bruce sobs and collapses, loosens, pauses everywhere as he *shudders* in the moments before he sobs *again* — 

And begins to *drive* into Jason's mouth once more, begins — 

And Jason is growling *again*, because Bruce has shoved his hands in Jason's hair, Bruce is gripping, yanking, tangling the strands and all but trying to *use* them as *reins*. He wants to teach Bruce to ride his *face*. 

He wants to teach Bruce to ride every *part* of him — and then watch him *take* those lessons on the proverbial *road*. 

Which lucky little boys and girls have earned his noble liege's favor? 

How little *are* they? 

Jason would *happily* tie them up and tie them *down* for Bruce — and *ecstatically* guide his liege in the extraction of their undoubtedly *sticky* gratitude. 

Perhaps he'll put that on his *to-do* list. 

And this — 

This is a happiness he has not had in *years*. This is pleasure, sweetness in the *tang* of sweat and salt and musk and — 

And a boy he is making more *his* by the moment. 

A part of Jason is only *smiling* — no. A part of Jason is positively *dancing* in this moment, humming and grinning, tossing himself off on his knees to the only thing that *matters* — 

And perhaps his liege would like to see *that*, too. 

Jason hums a *laugh* — 

And Bruce yanks Jason's hair hard enough to *hurt* — 

And Jason *resists* the need to fuck against the sheets, to please himself, to *take*. Better, by far, to await his liege's pleasure — 

Permission — 

Oh, but he's groaning again for that thought, for the *dream* of Bruce's gaze on him — hungry, wide, wild, *demanding* — as he puts Jason through his *paces*. 

Oh, Bruce, I'll teach you every way to *use* me!

And for a moment it seems as if Bruce's increasingly sharp and *desperate* cries are a response, as if he can feel or hear or *know* — 

He will, he *will* — 

But for now he will do his *level* best to *bruise* Jason's face with his beautifully violent *sodomy*. Just what was he being *shown* by that demon? 

Jason gives himself a *moment* to regret killing it so *quickly* — and then he simply gives himself over to getting fucked — 

And fucked — 

And *fucked* while Bruce grunts and growls and *mutters* Jason's name so deeply, so *harshly* — 

Jason crooks his finger *harder* — 

"*Oh* — but I didn't want — not yet —" But the rest of that is a growling *scream* as Bruce goes rigid and begins to *come*. 

Jason groans and honestly — *honestly* — considers *not* working Bruce for every last drop of it, but — not for very long. 

He mouths Bruce's cock and moves his finger in short, grinding motions, *abusing* Bruce's prostate for every — 

Last — 

*Spurt*. 

And yes, he can take this, he can *have* this as Bruce shudders and whimpers and — 

"Please — oh, *please*!" 

He can hum and moan and *slurp* around Bruce's cock, try to suck it a little *longer* when it seems as though he's *finished* spurting — 

Bruce moans *high* — 

And the sound makes *Jason* shudder, makes him sweat and need to bury his face against Bruce's groin again, nuzzle, swallow over and *over* — 

Bruce's hands *shake* in Jason's hair — 

His cock twitches *vigorously* — 

He *whimpers* — 

And this time Jason *has* to grind against the sheets, but once, just once, just enough to make the sweat in the hollow of his spine shift, just enough to make him come over in gooseflesh — 

"Oh... Jason..." And Bruce *sounds* dazed — 

And Jason realizes that his eyes are closed, that he had given himself to this experience even more fully than he'd *thought* he had — 

Jason presses Bruce's cock against the roof of his mouth with his *tongue* — 

Bruce whimpers *again* — 

And *then* Jason opens his eyes, knowing that they are nothing but naked, and raw, and *needy*. 

"I..." 

Jason *rubs* the flat of his tongue against the underside of Bruce's cock — 

And Bruce shudders *violently* and groans without ever looking away from Jason's eyes — or blinking. 

Jason feels *himself* flushing for that, for the *possibility* — 

For the *fact* that Bruce's *new* home will be the most magically-protected piece of real estate this side of *Olympus* — 

A part of him is already planning side-trips to discuss security ideas with *Lilim*, and what he might give them in order to coax out their secrets of how they keep their dear mother *safe* from a multiverse full of creatures who would dearly love to at *least* sterilize her for a *brief* period of time — 

A part of him isn't merely on his knees — as opposed to on his *face*. 

But Jason can recognize the *rising* pain in Bruce's scent — 

The need for *reprieve* — 

He pulls back slowly and gently, kissing the tip of Bruce's cock with barely more force than a brush of *breath* —

Bruce moans so *sweetly* — 

And Jason cannot *quite* bring himself to pull out yet. He stills his finger, though, and slips shadows between it and Bruce's flesh to soothe — 

"Oh — *oh*, that's — hm." 

"Yes...?" 

"That's rather..." Bruce licks his lips and smiles ruefully and wryly at once — a rather devastating expression with Bruce's sweat-damp hair falling over his forehead and his lips still swollen and *red*. 

Still, Jason is *more* than his cock — sometimes — and so he will act like it. '''Rather'...?" 

"It's really rather reminiscent of some of the more... hm. *Distressing* examples of sodomy the Bat showed me." 

Jason *blinks* — 

Considers — 

"Are you imagining anything resembling a tentacle, my liege...?" 

Bruce's eyes widen *dramatically*. "Not — not quite so — ah. Hm." And Bruce frowns and seems to be actively trying to stare between his own legs while also doing nothing of the kind. 

Jason laughs gently. "*That* is a rather common kink, you know." 

Bruce blinks more and stares at *him*. 

"It *is*, my liege." 

"I — but — with *whom*?" 

"Perverts, mostly." And Jason pulls on an exaggeratedly *bland* expression —

And Bruce laughs aloud, breathy and low, for several *seconds*. 

Jason grins for his victory — 

"*Jason*. I — I did mean it as a *serious* question. Or — were *you* joking when you said —" 

"I absolutely wasn't, my liege. There are all sorts of people of *various* species, genders, races, forms, ethnicities, and cultures in the multiverse who look at the various *cephalopods* — and cephalopod-like beings — of the multiverse and see *ideal* sexual partners." 

Bruce stares at him. 

Jason laughs and kisses a small beauty mark Bruce has in the bowl of his right hip. "To be fair, *many* of the people who have that particular kink merely wish to see a cephalopod — or cephalopod-like being — sexually assault some *other* person." 

Bruce stares at him *more* — 

And Jason grins just a little meanly. "To bring this back to one of your *earlier* questions —" 

"I. Am somewhat worried by that phrase." 

Jason laughs *evilly*. "Whyever for, my liege...?" 

Bruce gives him a *dark* look — 

And Jason coughs. And hums. "I do not, of course, *need* to delve into this topic any further —" 

"No, I —" Bruce smiles ruefully. "I want you to tell me everything, Jason. Everything that comes to your mind. And everything else." 

And Jason... can't do anything but stare and breathe raggedly and love, and love, and *love* — "Yes, my liege. I —" 

"Did you mean what you said? When you. When you said..." And Bruce swallows and stares at *him*, and his *own* breathing is ragged — 

And Jason knows what *he* means. He smiles ruefully, and cups Bruce's hips. "You own me, my liege —" 

"I —" 

"— and I could not be happier about that, because everything you are — everything you have shown yourself to *be* — has made me love you madly."

Bruce pants and stares at him *more* — 

Jason laughs and squeezes Bruce's hips. "And you look so very young like that..." 

"I — I apologize —" 

"Do *nothing* of the kind, my liege. You are a boy — for all that you're *precisely* as exceptional as any child produced by your parents *ought* to be. Boys are *supposed* to look young... at least from time to time," Jason says, and laughs ruefully. 

Bruce stares at him *silently*. 

"My liege?" 

"No one. No one has..." He swallows. "Mother would tell me she loved me all the time. And — I believed her." 

Ah, *that*. "As well you *should* have. But..." Jason shakes his head, pulling out gently — leaving the shadow in place — and moving up the bed to lie next to Bruce. He coaxes *him* to lie down with his head on Jason's right arm. Jason strokes Bruce's abdomen with his left hand. "You must never think that your father didn't love you," he says, and thinks about it — no. He *will* make Pennyworth an ally. "And Mr. Pennyworth loves you *madly*." 

Bruce blinks — and looks thoughtful for a long moment. 

Jason continues to stroke Bruce, and kisses his temple — 

"I... how can you be sure that Father loved me, Jason? He often seemed impatient with me, and you — you've *said* that he didn't want to spend time with *you*, either." 

"Ah, well, I wish *deeply* that I could tell you that I'd had many long, substantive conversations with the man about what a beautiful, wonderful child you were, but the truth is that he only mentioned you to me in order to instruct me to lie to you — or at least omit the truth — about my service to the family —" 

"Then —" 

"*However*, I *did* make a point of — occasionally — making myself immaterial so that I could *eavesdrop* on your father's meetings. Usually only when I felt he was meeting with someone who could prove dangerous to him — though I *should* say that he was often far more shrewd about such things than anyone, *including* myself, gave him credit for — but, sometimes, when he was meeting with *you*." 

Bruce inhales sharply and blinks. "I... *why* did you —" 

"Because I had the same questions *you* do, my liege. I..." Jason smiles ruefully. "There are so many complications to emotional relationships —" 

"I dislike that." 

Jason coughs a laugh — "My liege, believe me when I say that you *will* come to live for it." 

Bruce *looks* at him again — 

Jason hums. "Give it time. My point: I loved both of your parents, and I loved them *deeply* —" 

"*Oh* — but." 

"Yes. I loved your father, *too*, my liege — as loath as I often was to admit it. But I did *not* mean to mislead you. He was an exceptional man, and beautiful in *many* ways, and he was rarely *more* beautiful to me than when he was looking at you, his *beloved* son, with all of what he was feeling in his eyes."

Bruce frowns once more. "Did you... was that why you went to Father when he was meeting with me? To see that?"

Jason spreads his hands. "*Neither* of your parents were very generous with their affections, as these things went. I wondered, more than once, if they could give... enough." 

Bruce nods thoughtfully. "You came to believe that Father could." 

"Yes," Jason says, and smiles ruefully. "I could also *smell* him around you, you see. He had never been so passionate... no. He had *only* been so passionate about *Martha*, in the past." 

"Oh. *Oh* — but. You know the scent of — but of course it's reasonable for you to have *learned* how various emotions change the scents of various people," Bruce says, and his expression turns *lightly* thoughtful. "That raises the question of whether and how much influence hormonal shifts have *on* our emotions — I. I have more questions now." And he frowns again.

Jason laughs quietly and *squeezes* Bruce. "All of your questions are entirely valid and welcome, my liege... though I must confess that I am *not* as well-versed in the advances your species has made in the biological and chemical sciences as I could be." 

"Oh — no?" 

"I'm afraid not —" 

"You don't find it fascinating?" And Bruce's tone makes his question sound much more like 'you don't find breathing oxygen necessary?' 

Jason kisses Bruce's temple *many* more times. "It's interesting *enough*, my liege — and I do try to bone up on the various scientific advances when there is *time* for me to do so — but it is *vastly* important that I keep a weather eye on what is happening in the *supernatural* world. *All* of the supernatural worlds. Do keep in mind that that which the human imagination is capable of dreaming is that which the multiverse is capable of *birthing* into oft-horrifyingly *violent* — or at least terribly *inconvenient* — existence at *any* time." 

"Oh... dear." 

"Do also keep in mind that humans are not the *only* imaginative beings *in* the multiverse." 

"I... suppose not. Hm. Jason..."

"Yes, my liege?"

"What... *where* do you feel I should be focusing my studies? Which subjects? Which *disciplines*?" 

Jason blinks. He opens his mouth to say something about Bruce's *schooling* — and then reminds himself *not* to be an idiot just in time. "That entirely depends on what you choose to *do* with your life —" 

"But —" 

"*But* you don't wish to 'waste' your time studying things which may prove useless to you if, say, you wind up choosing something entirely different when you're in your twenties, yes?" 

"*Yes*, Jason. I..." And Bruce looks up to meet Jason's gaze. "Life can be... very short." 

Not yours, my liege. Not if I can *help* it — but Jason inclines his head. "This is true. However, I will tell you *another* secret which I believe will stand you in *good* stead throughout the course of your life — no matter how long or short it happens to be." 

"Oh — yes, *please*!" 

"There is no such thing as 'useless' knowledge." 

Bruce blinks. 

Jason grins. "There is knowledge which avails you nothing at a given time. There is knowledge which distresses you. There is knowledge which destroys *worlds*. But? There is no such thing as *useless* knowledge. I cannot *tell* you how many times I have found myself in one *desperate* situation or another wishing I had spent more time reading *this* dull book, or listening to *that* overly-gregarious *gaffer*, or simply meditating on things which I had already studied but had not allowed myself to learn with *all* of myself. Obviously, I survived all of those situations, but many of them were far closer calls than they could've been. Than they *ought* to have been. Even should you choose to turn away from a life of vigilantism —" 

"I. I don't think I can do that," Bruce says, and frowns. 

Jason's heart *pounds* — but. "You *really* should give yourself time to *think*, my liege —" 

"I have." 

"While I was *fellating* you?" 

"Yes," Bruce says, calm and low and flat and —

Jason doesn't *cough* — 

"I can't — the fact that my desires and drives and *dreams* have been manipulated and *abused* does not change the fact that there is a need — in this city and others — for extralegal responses to crime. Father often spoke of the widespread corruption in the state and local governments, and how that extended to police departments, including Gotham's. I..." Bruce frowns deeply. "I've thought about this... extensively. Over the years, I mean. *Mother* explained to me, once, that it was usually very easy for the wealthy, white, and powerful to receive justice for crimes committed against them — that people in my position often received *undue* consideration." 

"This is *entirely* true, my liege. The dominant caste in any given society — no matter who makes up that caste and no matter where that society is located — has always received the lion's share of that which can be considered 'justice'."

Bruce nods and frowns darkly. "I want that to change. I want — I want to give the people who are poor or powerless in other ways justice. I want..." Bruce swallows. "It's..." And Bruce shudders.

"Please tell me," Jason says, and squeezes Bruce again. 

Bruce shudders again and makes a soft sound — and then he growls and calms himself with deliberate speed and *force*. "It's *telling*, Jason. Nearly every party, gala, or other event I've been forced to attend over the years has included at least one guest looking at me — or, when they were alive, my parents — with absolute resentment, because the Waynes 'own' Gotham. If *we* couldn't receive justice for a crime that was committed on a public street at nine-thirty in the *evening*, how much more difficult is it for *other* people?" 

Jason sighs. "There is that. There is *always* that. But —" 

"There is the matter of the power — or *powers* — manipulating events so that..." Bruce shakes his head again. "What if the mugger was just... some innocent man who was *also* manipulated? What if he's spent the last six years *tortured* because of what he did?" 

Jason kisses Bruce again. "You are a kind and beautiful boy for having that thought, my liege — and it is a reasonable thought to *have*. I've had it *myself*. But..." And Jason raises an eyebrow. 

"He hasn't turned himself in. He — what if he doesn't remember?" 

"An entirely reasonable possibility, my liege. A *likely* one, as well, given how this sort of thing *works* —" 

"Would it. Would it be cruel to *remind* the man of what he did?" 

Jason closes his eyes for a moment, and actually feels himself begin to *soften* slightly — he opens his eyes again. "In some ways, yes. However... I would almost certainly be able to make him forget again." Assuming he deserves that mercy. 

Bruce nods thoughtfully. "You'll take me with you once you track down the mugger," he says, without a single shred of doubt or hesitation in his voice. 

Jason shivers. "I —" 

"Have you already taken the relevant information from my mind, Jason?" 

"No. I... I'll need more of a connection with you to do that. Dear one —" 

"You'll take me with you," he says, again, and the command in his voice — 

The *presence* — 

The *power* — and this is, in fact, precisely what Jason has asked for. *Begged* for — if not ever, ever prayed for.

Jason takes a breath. "As you say, my liege. You will, however, be thoroughly protected." 

"Of course," Bruce says, and then his expression turns thoughtfully distant for a long moment which makes Jason think *rueful* thoughts about his own erection — but. 

He *is* supposed to be *that* sort of teacher, too. Jason hums and presses the tip of his tongue to Bruce's temple. *Firmly*. 

"Oh, I —" And then Bruce blinks — 

Blushes *furiously* — 

"Jason, I apologize —"

Jason presses two fingers to Bruce's mouth and watches his expression turn more and more *horrified*. He laughs softly. "You have every reason to have become *distracted*, my liege. I will accept your apology as read." 

Bruce frowns — and grips Jason's wrist again. 

Jason *bites* the tip of his tongue and moves his fingers. 

"You — I don't want you to let me use you, Jason."

"And if I would dearly enjoy being used...?" 

Bruce frowns direfully and squeezes Jason's wrist *very* firmly. "I think there were — I think there were two different meanings to the word 'use' in our statements, Jason. At *least*." 

Jason shivers and licks his lips. "I — there were —" 

"I won't — I don't like — this is too serious a subject for *word* games." And Bruce is *glaring* at him — 

And Jason will *not* let himself be a fool. As *much* of an influence as Waynes like Jonah had on the family — and the *world* via their business and political practices — they were *outliers* in terms of the overall family *character*. Waynes, as a breed, are *noble*. 

Even when they're profiteering — or *privateering*. 

Even when they're practicing *human sacrifice*. 

Even when they're just finding a dozen different ways at *once* to be *arseholes*. Thomas —

*Thomas* kept *two* dungeons devoted to his sadistic sexual practices — one in the old Wayne carriage house and one in the secret seventh Wayne Tower *bomb* shelter — but he was *still* pathologically incapable of letting his lovers — or even his 'lovers' — make it through a session in one of those dungeons without *several* intellect-destroying orgasms. 

Jason *knows*. He'd *watched*. Multiple *times*. 

Though it *had* been desperately amusing to be the decidedly immaterial fly on the wall on the day when Thomas's preferred escort service had accidentally sent him a young woman — small, dark, and witty, of course — who, while she *vastly* enjoyed being put through her decidedly masochistic paces, was *not* capable of orgasm without *Herculean* efforts.

The man had nearly had a *panic* attack —

"Jason? What are you thinking?" 

Oh, dear — or. No. Bruce is *not* the average boy. Jason smiles ruefully. "I'm thinking about your father's sexual habits." 

"I... you... what? *He* had a lover?" 

Jason inclines his head. "He had several, my liege. Additionally, he patronized a handful of beautiful, witty, well-read, and *discreet* prostitutes over the years —" 

"*Oh* —" 

"— all of whom he pleased *immensely*... going by my observations," Jason says and smiles a little more broadly. "He and your mother *understood* each other, you see. The fact that they did not find each other to be satisfactory life-companions did *not* mean that they wanted each other to suffer, or be lonely." 

Bruce nods thoughtfully — and then, after a moment, his entire countenance *lightens*. *Dramatically*. 

Were Jason not precisely who he is, he would wonder if some *other* malevolent creature had just left his liege, but... he knows that it was something rather darker than that. 

"Thank you, Jason." 

"You're *very* welcome. *Please* *always* ask me to clarify these things —" 

"Mother never loved Father." 

Jason opens his mouth — and smiles ruefully. Honesty, above all things. "No. Though she found his company quite pleasurable on *many* occasions, and *vastly* enjoyed the *force* they made together as a married couple, in terms of the good they could and *did* do for Gotham." 

Bruce nods, gaze distant once more... and then he takes a deep, slow breath, meets Jason's gaze, and squeezes his wrist *viciously*. 

"You have my undivided attention, my liege." 

"Tell me how you want me to use you." 

"I... did you want a list?" 

Bruce narrows his eyes for a moment — "You're hesitant to answer the question. Why?" 

Jason blinks — but he can and *will* think about the question. He turns away from Bruce's beautiful face to do it — 

And immediately thinks of all the moments of Bruce's wide-eyed wonder he's been given today — 

And all the moments of Bruce's *surprised* pleasure — 

And all the moments where it was *abundantly* clear that Bruce was *flooded* with *multiple* desires... well. 

Jason turns back to Bruce and smiles ruefully. 

"What is it, Jason?" 

"I'm afraid of influencing you... unduly." 

Bruce's expression *quirks* — and then he raises an eyebrow. 

Jason hums. "Yes, that *was* a ridiculous statement, considering the course of our acquaintance... but. It also wasn't. Can you guess why?" 

Bruce *searches* him for a moment — "You haven't raised your eyebrow." 

Jason smiles wryly. "I didn't intend for that to be a teaching moment." 

A thoughtful nod — "That suggests that the answer to the question will be less educational to me than simply interesting, or... useful?" 

That — Jason laughs. "I wish to *always* be interesting and useful to you, my liege." 

Bruce hums. "I find myself deeply doubtful that you could be anything less, Jason. But the question..." He frowns mildly. "For something to make you worried about influencing me too much — or influencing me *incorrectly* — you must feel that a dishonest answer to the question of how you wish to be used would be better, somehow. Or — no answer, at all?" 

"The latter, by *far* —" 

"And *that* suggests — *strongly* — that you want me to come to my own conclusions, or make my own *guesses*, about how you wish to be used, which..." Bruce frowns much more deeply. "Jason, you *know* that I need to be taught these things." 

Jason kisses Bruce's temple again, then pulls back and smiles ruefully down into his eyes. "You are correct, and yes, I *do* know. But there is *one* further point." 

"I... what? *Why* do you want me to make guesses on my own? What possible benefit could come from that for *you*?" 

Jason smiles *just* a bit wider... and raises an eyebrow. 

Bruce nearly *scowls* at him — 

"Oh, my liege, you have my *utmost* apologies for upsetting you... but, amusement aside, I *am* being serious. A part of me — a *large* part of me — *does* want you to make your own guesses —" 

"Because — you feel that I'll be *creative*? Or... interesting? Perverse in exciting ways? Enticing? I — oh." Bruce blinks. "You feel. You feel I've already been those things. Some of those things —" 

"*All* of those things, my liege," Jason says, and leans in to *lick* Bruce's temple. "And rather a few other things, as well. I don't want to risk *limiting* you." 

"But —" 

"*But*, I have made you promises and I will keep them. *Assiduously*. And I will be even *more* assiduous about keeping them should you make *me* a promise." 

"Oh — *anything*!" 

Jason coughs. "All right, *two* promises, my liege: First: *Never* agree to a promise — for *anyone* — without first hearing what the promise *is*." 

Bruce blinks. "But — did you not want me to trust you?" 

Jason smiles helplessly. "I would be ecstatic if you trusted me *implicitly*." And I know you're already close to *doing* so — "But I would be positively over the *moon* if you used that trust in me to listen closely and well when I tell you things like the following: It may someday come to pass that some entity with a vast amount of power and an even more vast amount of evil *intent* will gain absolute control over me, my will, and my *magic*. I can *already* make it so that someone who shares even a relatively *small* amount of blood with me will be bound to my *will*. What do you think would happen on that *hopefully* distant *and* hypothetical day when I make you make a *promise*?"

Bruce looks somewhat *queasy*... though infinitely less upset than he had when he realized that he hadn't gotten Jason *off*. That — 

"Bruce —" 

"I — I understand, Jason." 

"*Do* you?" 

"I will *always* wait before agreeing to make a promise," he says — *vows*, truly. 

And so Jason takes a *deep* breath. "Thank you *very* much, my liege." 

Bruce nods. "The other promise?" 

"Very good," Jason says, and smiles. "Simply this: Never assume, with me, that a request for one sexual act — or conversational topic, or book to read, or food to eat, or *prostitute* to *patronize*, or et *cetera* — is a *demand* to avoid any or all *other* acts, topics, books, foods, *doxies*... do you catch my meaning?" 

Bruce blinks. "You feel very strongly that I shouldn't... limit myself." 

"In *any* way, my liege." 

"But —" 

"Please wait?" 

Bruce frowns, but nods. 

Jason smiles helplessly again. "I'm going to have a *very* difficult time leaving you tonight, my liege — even though I know you'll welcome me *back*." 

Bruce blinks — and his frown disappears utterly. "I — I *will*. I don't want you to leave, at *all*. Or — if I could come with you —" 

Jason laughs quietly. "While it is *entirely* possible that Etrigan will find you rather more agreeable than he finds *most* people *I* find agreeable... well. *Etrigan* is a *fire*-demon, my liege. He tends to spend a great deal of time in places like —" And Jason gestures at a space beyond the foot of the bed, opening a view — and *not* a portal. "*That*." 

"I... hm." 

"Yes, my liege?" 

"The phrase... 'fiery abyss' comes to mind." 

"As well it *should*." 

"I... am somewhat worried about my eyebrows burning off, Jason." 

"Oh, the carpeting is in far more danger than your wonderfully *manly* brows, my liege." 

"I." 

Jason laughs more and closes the view. 

"Thank you —" 

"You're *quite* welcome. And rest assured that Etrigan is aware of your desire to come to know him and, presumably, develop a more positive relationship with him than *I* have over the centuries. He *will* take that information and duly consider it." 

"Do you think he'll *wish* to speak with me?" 

Jason smiles ruefully. "I cannot say, my liege. He tends to find most humans foul-smelling, ill-bred, impolite, immoral, and generally *unpleasant* — except when they're well-cooked — and I certainly haven't *helped* with that impression, as I tend to find most *demons* to be useless at *best* unless they're in the process of *dripping* off my *sword*." 

And Bruce... looks somewhat *stricken*. 

Jason bites his tongue on a laugh. "It's all right, my liege. Etrigan and I aren't warring *all* the time —" 

"But —" 

"*And* we haven't done worse — or *tried* to do worse — to one another than cause *inconvenience* in *centuries*. Granted, said inconveniences have often been terrifically *painful* —" 

"Jason." 

"You... have a marvelously commanding voice when you wish to," Jason says, smiling and working his wrist in Bruce's grip — and doing *nothing* to free it. "And, once again, you have my undivided attention."

Bruce searches his eyes for a long moment — and then nods. "I think you should make peace with Etrigan."


	6. The power of fantasy.

Jason blinks. A *great* deal. And then he *keeps* doing it —

"Mother told me that the two of you disliked each other —" 

"I — it's rather more —" 

"She told me that the dislike was great enough that an entirely separate being had grown *between* you, further dividing your soul in ways not even you could fully understand. Is that correct?" 

Jason blinks *more* — "I... *when* did she tell —" 

"Jason." 

Jason takes a breath — and inclines his head. "That is correct as far as it goes, my liege —" 

"What other details are missing? Are there more divisions in your soul? Are you *making* more divisions every time you *fight* with Etrigan? Is it *not* true that you weaken yourself when you weaken him?" 

And Jason's mind fills with a vivid image — *film* — of the Blood who had visited him this morning, and his scars, and his stiff movements, and the *fact* that, short of an intervention from a god or some other vastly *powerful* power, *he* would never wield a sword right-handed again. He winces. 

Bruce raises an eyebrow. Which — 

"For the record, my liege, this *is* a lesson I took this morning —" 

"Did you?" 

"Yes. If not as deeply... well." Jason licks his lips, takes another deep breath, and smiles ruefully. "Are you *ordering* me to make peace, my liege?" 

Bruce blinks *once* — and then his expression hardens *deeply* inspiringly. "Yes."

Jason licks his lips. "Very well, my liege," he says, and *bows* his head as much as possible, given the position he's in. "And thank you very much for making the prospect *attractive*." 

"Why haven't you — no. Wait." 

"Yes, my liege?" 

"You must always protect yourself, Jason. You — if Etrigan or the shadow-being *tries* to injure you —" 

"I will defend myself, as I have always done, and as I will always do," Jason says, and smiles *gently* for the *worry* in Bruce's voice. "I *have* learned just a *few* ways to fight both *purely* defensively *and* effectively." 

*Bruce* blinks. "I... had always assumed that that sort of thing was immensely difficult to do *successfully*, Jason. That it was far more *dangerous* than other kinds of battle." 

"Oh, it *is* — for *most* of the *human*-standard varieties of combat in the multiverse. Magic... is just a bit more flexible." 

"Oh. Yes?" 

"Yes, my liege," Jason says, and smiles ruefully — and winks. "It does, of course, *help* that I am old, experienced, paranoid, and *mean*."

Bruce hums, countenance brightening again. "I find that I wish to watch you fighting... someone." 

"Or some*thing*, my liege...? It can — and *will* — be arranged." 

Bruce squeezes Jason's wrist. "When?" 

Jason licks his teeth — no. He leans in and licks Bruce's *ear* — 

"*Oh* —" 

"You will *not* be able to practice, or train, or even *play* with the vast and fascinating amounts of violence in your beautiful soul *here*, my liege —" 

"Not — in Gotham?" 

"Not on this plane of *existence* if I have any say in it —" 

"Oh — but — *why*?" 

Jason laughs darkly. "You are already significantly heavier than many of your peers, yes?" 

"Yes —" 

"And taller, of course." 

"Yes, Jason —" 

"And wealthier — usually by *several* orders of magnitude...?" 

"I..." Bruce winces. "I try not to think about that —" 

"You must, my liege," Jason says, *firmly*. "Especially because that wealth made you a public figure before your mother so much as gave *birth* to you." 

Bruce *blinks* — "I... you're leading up to a discussion of the fact that I'll have to be subtle about even the *preparations* I make to become a vigilante. I —" Bruce frowns. "I'll have to be *more* subtle about it than someone more average in size, wealth —" 

"And *attractiveness*. You are *also* far too *beautiful* to go unnoticed." 

"Oh — *Jason* —" 

Jason laughs *hard*. "My liege. You cannot *tell* me that the sweet and *lovely* young debutantes have not *already* begun flinging themselves *bodily* at you." 

Bruce frowns in *distaste*. "They *have*. But they — Alfred spoke to me about this extensively, Jason. Many of them would try to kiss a — a *hat-stand* if it had the last name *Wayne*." 

Jason *coughs*. "While that is *not* entirely inaccurate, you *must* believe me when I tell you that you are a *remarkably* beautiful boy." 

"I —" 

"Beautiful *enough* that, even were you a mean-spirited *idiot* of a *bigot*, I might *still* be tempted to bugger you until you *squeaked*... around the large, *thick* gag I would have shoved *deep* into your mouth, of course." And Jason pulls on a *benign* smile. 

Bruce stares at him with his mouth *slightly* parted — 

It's tempting to ask him if he wants to try *out* any of Jason's gags — 

"Jason. I." 

"Yes, my liege...?" 

"I — please don't. Please don't make your voice... innocent. At times like these." 

Jason laughs *extra* evilly. "As you *say*, my liege," he says, and grins *broadly*. 

Bruce frowns at him adorably. 

"Yes, my liege?" And this time, he says it in a *much* less dishonest tone. 

"It seems incorrect to make love to someone based solely on their appearance, Jason." 

Jason bites *back* a laugh — 

"What was *amusing* about that?" 

"I — hm. One does *not* make *love* to a person when the only thing one knows about them — or, alternately, the only thing one *likes* about them — is the way they *look*, my liege." 

"But — you just said —" 

"One *fucks* them," Jason says, slowly and clearly. 

Bruce blinks — and blushes. 

Jason laughs *low*. "One fucks them hard, one fucks them fast, one fucks them *dirty*. One fucks them as if there is no *tomorrow* — because, depending on *how* ludicrously horrible — or non-*existent* — the *post*-fucking conversation happens to be, there may not *be* any tomorrow. At least not for the 'relationship' in question." 

This time, Bruce's frown speaks of being served a vast, steaming, sulfurous mud pie, drizzled artistically with rancid cod liver oil. 

Jason leans in and kisses Bruce's forehead with a wet *smack* before leaning back with a smile. "While you may *always* retain *just* this attitude toward casual sex — and there's certainly nothing *wrong* with being sexually *continent* — I would be remiss as your vassal if I did *not* take this opportunity to tell you the following: One, sex — even *bad* sex — is usually a great *deal* of fun, and it is *exceedingly* difficult to have anything *like* bad sex when you have two — or more — participants who are eager, willing, cheerful, friendly, and healthy *enough* —" 

"*You* were speaking of having sex with someone — someone *awful*, Jason!" 

"Well, that *is* true, but I must confess that I was imagining using that desperately hypothetical person *very* harshly and cruelly *indeed* — using them in ways I almost *never* use people I actually *like* —" 

"*Oh* —" 

"— and there are pleasures to *that* which are rather heady... in their way, and in their places, and in their *times*," Jason says, and raises an eyebrow.

Bruce blushes deeply again — "I. Am not sure that I *want* to learn that lesson, Jason." 

"No...? You've never had a fantasy of bending someone utterly to your will?"

Bruce shivers and *swallows* — 

"Perhaps..." Jason licks his lips. "Perhaps you've occasionally *broken* someone to your will, my liege?" 

"I... I don't. I think it's... incorrect to view one's enemies..." And Bruce blushes and shakes his head... but he is still looking to *Jason* for *guidance*. 

Jason will always work to *earn* such trust. "The niceties of consent must always be observed, of course..." 

"I — oh — *yes* —" 

"But there is *latitude* within such things, my liege. There are, for lack of a better term, *grey* areas." 

Bruce blinks in *obvious* confusion. 

Jason laughs quietly and leans in to kiss Bruce's mouth softly, softly. "Consider this," he says, and doesn't pull back very far, at all. 

"I — yes?" 

"Consider that an individual can be broken to one's will — to one's *yoke* — long and long and *long* before you touch them *sexually*. In such a scenario, you've taught your enemy to *always* say 'yes' to you — and to fear the very *possibility* of saying 'no'."

"Oh. I..." Bruce swallows, and his eyes are so very *wide*....

Jason kisses him again — 

"Please —" 

"Shh. Consider this: A lover — and not merely a casual fuck — may be anyone, at all... so long as they are someone who gives themselves to you with openness and care, and so long as they welcome your *own* gifts. I submit to you, my liege, that you may one day find a lover — or more than one — who sweats and groans and *aches* at the very thought of saying 'no' to you, who *dreams* of saying 'no' to you —" 

"I —" 

"— but only so long as you never, ever *stop*." 

Bruce groans and shakes his *head* — but his cock is hardening *very* nicely. 

"Consider *this*, my liege —" 

"Jason —" 

"Shh," Jason says, and *licks* Bruce's mouth. "Consider yourself someplace warm and utterly safe. You are blindfolded, but you can feel that there is light all around you. The warmth is *growing* from the light — though you know it will never be truly uncomfortable. You are comfortable, and dozing, and alone... or are you?" 

Bruce blinks. "I. What?" 

Jason smiles. "The touches begin innocently. Your ankle. Your shoulder. Your marvelously aggressive *chin*." 

Bruce's laugh has obviously been *surprised* out of him — 

And Jason laughs, too. Just a little. "Each successive touch, though... it lasts just a little longer than the one which came before — or seems to. Or perhaps it's only that each new touch is more firm. Or more aggressive. Or more... hungry." 

Bruce's breathing begins to roughen. 

"Eventually, the hands are gripping you more than stroking you. *Moving* you. Turning you over again and again to touch every part of you. They're possessive hands, and greedy hands, and they are molesting you *utterly*. There's nothing you can do... or is there?" 

Bruce only stares at him with his lips *slightly* parted — 

His eyes wide — 

His need *clear* — 

"You could hold them still. You could push them *away*. But then the question becomes why you haven't done so *before*. Did you want it? Do you still? Do you want to be *forced*, my liege...?"

Bruce opens his mouth — and moans.

And Jason laughs softly. "Of course... there's nothing to say that pushing at the hands would do anything at all to free you from their touch. They're very strong, after all..." 

Bruce licks his *lips* — 

"Perhaps *trying* to push them will only make their owner — or *owners* — angry. Perhaps they'll *punish* you —" 

"*Jason* — I." And Bruce swallows and stares up at him *pleadingly*. 

And Jason inclines his head. "My liege. What is your pleasure?" 

"I. I don't *know*, but — I —" Bruce swallows again. "I'm very aroused again." 

Jason makes a point of taking in Bruce's flushed face, the sweat pooled in his suprasternal notch, his hard nipples, his *leaking* cock — and then he smiles *slowly*. "I find myself in *much* the same position, my liege." 

"Please. Please teach me something else." 

Jason parts his lips on a smile and breathes Bruce in, *tastes* him — "Did you have preferences...?" 

"I want — would you." Bruce licks his lips and squeezes Jason's wrist *very* hard — 

"Oh, yes —" 

— but then Bruce *very* deliberately *releases* Jason's wrist, and presses his own hands *flat* to the sheets to either side of him, and — "Please." 

Jason gasps softly — and smiles. "As you say, my liege," he says, and claws *somewhat* harshly down the center of Bruce's chest — 

"*Oh* —" 

And then he *cups* Bruce's throat with one hand and *squeezes* his hairy little sac with the other — 

"*Jason* —" 

"Merely stop me when you wish me *to* stop, my liege. It would break something vastly important in me to so much as *disappoint* you — and it would be much, much worse for me if I ever *hurt* you in a way you did not *like*. Do you understand?" 

Bruce groans *loudly* —

Shudders — 

His cock is twitching *violently* — 

And Jason smiles softly. "And I should, perhaps, be somewhat more realistic about your ability to *think* right now. Very well," he says, and *pumps* Bruce's sac once — 

"*Hnh* —" 

Twice —

"Yes — oh — *oh* —" 

*Several* times — 

And Bruce groans and arches for him, spreads his legs and *offers* his body — 

"*This*, my liege," Jason says, and concentrates on the shadow still lurking *inside* Bruce, calls on it and forces a *fairly* significant amount of the slickest, oiliest lubricant he owns — and tends to keep in all *sorts* of convenient pocket dimensions — *through* it — 

"*Nnh*!" 

Forces the shadow to *thicken* — 

"*Jason*!" 

"Had you forgotten it...?" 

"I — I —" And Bruce shakes his head and stares at him, eyes wide and pulse *pounding*. 

Jason laughs softly and makes the shadow *throb* — 

And Bruce jerks and clutches at the sheets, curling his toes and shaking his head. 

"No...?" 

"I — I don't — please, I don't know!" 

"All right, try this," Jason says, and makes the shadow *ripple* — 

And Bruce makes no sound at all. 

Jason does it again — 

Bruce gasps and shakes like a *leaf* — 

Jason does it *again* — 

Bruce shakes and *stares* at nothing, at all — 

"My liege..." 

Bruce *jerks* again — and focuses on Jason with something very much like needy, wondering *fear*. 

Jason smiles. "You're going to enjoy getting fucked, I think..." 

Bruce whimpers, winces and clenches around the shadow *brutally* hard — 

And Jason grunts for the feel of it, for the way he *can* feel — no. He must *tell* his liege. He pants and *grins* at Bruce. "When you do that, my liege... I can feel you *holding* me." 

Bruce grunts *loudly*, eyes widening once more — "I — where? *How*?" 

Jason laughs and gestures the shadow to ripple *faster* within Bruce — 

"*Please*!" 

"Clench for me again...?" 

Bruce flushes *dark*, groaning and *shuddering* — "Is it — is it good?" 

Jason *moans* a laugh. "I can feel your heat even as we *speak*, my —" 

Bruce clenches — and then clenches *harder* — 

They groan *together* — 

"Jason — oh, *Jason* —" 

And Jason licks his lips and laughs again, *bites* his lip — "I feel you all over my *body*, my liege..." 

"How — *how*?" 

"The shadows are a *part* of me. And I — mm. Perhaps I should please myself even more...? I can translate the sensations of the shadow to my *cock* specifically." 

Bruce stares at him *wonderingly* once more — 

"Do you want that, my liege? I promise — mn. I promise to lose *control*." 

Bruce grunts and clenches *again* — 

And *Jason* grunts and shudders — "You are so *very* warm... but perhaps I should take what I want?" 

Bruce pants and claws at the sheets — 

Stares up at him so *needily* — 

And then closes his eyes, shivers, and clenches *deliberately*. 

Jason *growls* — "Very well, my liege. I — this," he says, and opens himself to the sensations — 

Opens himself *utterly* — and immediately collapses on his hands over Bruce's body. He's panting and sweating and *groaning* — 

He's shaking and his cock is leaking — 

*Dripping* — 

"Oh. Oh, *Jason*..." 

"Oh, *yes*," Jason says, growling another laugh and grabbing Bruce's *shoulders* — 

"Please —" 

"*Yes*." And he pins Bruce's wrists above his head and shows his *teeth* — 

Bruce gasps and *bucks* — 

"Oh — *very* good, my liege," Jason says, and *shoves* his cock against Bruce's — 

"*Oh* — oh, that —" 

"Yes...?" And Jason *grinds* them together — 

"You — I —" Bruce moans and shudders and *bucks* again — 

"*Good* —" But the rest of that is a *snarl*, because Bruce is clenching around the shadow again — 

Shaking under him and *groaning* — 

Tossing his *head* — but *that* could be because Jason has started to *thrust*, started to *fuck* against Bruce and — mm. 

*Ride* him a little — 

*Just* a little — 

And teaching Bruce to love things like this is — well. Not *entirely* self-serving. It's not like he won't vastly enjoy watching Bruce have this with other *people* — 

Bruce might even give him *permission* for that. And that — 

And Jason is groaning as he stares down into Bruce's eyes, as he grinds and thrusts and *shoves*, as — "I'm dreaming of you, my liege..." 

"Yes — oh — *tell* me!" 

"I'm dreaming of watching —" 

Bruce's cock *spasms* against Jason's own — 

Jason thrusts *hard* — 

"*Please*!" 

"*Yes*, my liege," Jason says, and keeps *that* rhythm, that *force* — "I — I'm watching you fuck all *sorts* of people, my liege —" 

"I — but —" 

"You're *allowing* me the *privilege* of the bedchamber..." 

Bruce moans desperately and claws at the sheets again — and then grunts and reaches up to claw at Jason's *shoulders* — 

"Oh, yes, *please* —" 

"More, Jason! *More*!" 

And Jason laughs and thrusts in *short* strokes, *vicious* strokes —

"*Hnh* —" And Bruce *clenches* — 

And Jason *barks* a cry — 

"Jason, *tell* me!" 

"Yes — *yes*, my liege," Jason says, groans, *fucks* — "You allow me to stay at — at your side —" 

"Please — please, *yes*!" 

Jason snarls and pins Bruce's *wrists*, squeezes them *hard* — 

"*Jason* —" 

"Do you *like* —" 

"Yes, tell me *more*!" 

And Jason grins and pants, grins more and thickens the shadow in Bruce's arse just a *little* bit more — 

Bruce clenches and *shouts* — 

And Jason can't help but gasp for it, *flex* for it, grind and *shove* as Bruce shakes — 

Begs with every *part* of himself — 

Oh — "I stay *with* you, my liege..." 

"*Please*!" 

"I watch, and I sniff, and I *beg* —" 

"For — for — touch?" 

Jason licks his lips and grinds *faster*. "Would you *like* that?" 

Bruce grunts — 

"Would you like me to beg on my knees for your favour, my liege? For your caresses? Your grip? Your *strike* —" 

"*NNH* —" 

Jason laughs *breathlessly* and rides Bruce's shudders, Bruce's *jerks* — "*I'd* like that —" 

"Anything —" 

"You could —" Jason groans and leans in to *slurp* the sweat from Bruce's temple — 

"*Oh* —" 

"You could make me hang my *head* —" 

"Jason —" 

"You could force me to only *listen* to your pleasure, your *fuck* —" 

"Please — *please* — *mm* —" 

And kissing Bruce is soft, hot, *wet*, *sweet* — 

Bruce *sucks* Jason's tongue — 

And so Jason fucks Bruce's mouth with it, lengthens it and gives Bruce a *rhythm* with it, the same rhythm he's giving with his cock — 

With his shadow — 

Bruce goes *rigid* — 

And Jason rings Bruce's cock with another shadow before he can stop himself, before he can *think* — 

Bruce *screams* into Jason's mouth when his orgasm is forcibly *stopped* — 

And Jason pulls back — "Shh, shh, it will be even *better*," Jason says, *vows*, as Bruce groans and whimpers — 

Stares up at him in *shock* — 

"Here..." And Jason *whips* the shadow in Bruce's *arse* — 

Bruce growls and *bucks*, clenching — 

Clenching and making them both groan, sweat — 

*Strain* together — 

"Yes, my liege, *yes*," Jason says, and he's panting, licking at Bruce's still-swollen lips — 

Biting — 

Biting his *chin* — "But you could make me listen..." 

"Where — what —" 

"You could... mm... maybe a likely young girl...?" 

Bruce *starts* to shake his head — 

And Jason laughs and *stabs* into Bruce's mouth with his tongue — 

Into Bruce's *arse* with the shadow — 

In and out and *in* again — 

Bruce groans and shudders and wraps his *legs* around Jason — 

"*Hnh* — *perfect*, my liege!" 

"*Please* —" 

"Shh," Jason says, and *yanks* Bruce's hands further above his head, pinning them with *one* hand so he can move the other to Bruce's mouth. "Shh..." 

Bruce shudders and bucks and *bucks* — 

"Oh, yes...? I'll remember *this*..." 

Bruce *moans* — 

And Jason *growls* as he grinds. "But dream for me, my liege. Dream of a hard, springy nipple between your lips —" 

An *animal* noise — 

Jason *laughs*. "Dream of it stiffening *more* against your tongue as you lick and lick and *slurp* — *loudly*." 

And Bruce nods, flushes, *shakes* — 

"Dream of biting *down* as your lover *screams* — and begs for your cock in her slick, swollen *cunt* —" 

And Bruce *clenches* again — 

Jason gasps and *slams* against Bruce's cock — 

Bruce *sobs* against Jason's hand — 

"Yes — oh, *yes* —" And Jason pants and *grins*. "Dream of *me*, my liege. Hard and sweaty and *aching* on my knees as I *listen* to every dirty little noise. Every gasp. Every groan. Every scream and grunt and *slurp*."

Bruce looks *dazed* again — 

*Desperate* and dazed at *once* — 

And then he starts *licking* Jason's hand, nibbling and *sucking* at the calluses on Jason's *palm* even as his cock spasms again and *again* — 

"Oh — nnh. And I'll beg for you, my liege. Beg to join you. Beg to help you. Beg to *watch* you even as I'm taking in every breath of your air. Every taste of your *sweat*. I —" 

And Bruce squeezes Jason *hard* with his strong thighs, tries to *pull* Jason *in* — 

"Yes?" And Jason grins and gives Bruce more weight, more pressure, more *force* — "But you could do this to *her*, my liege — whoever she is..." 

Bruce shudders and goes rigid *again* — 

"Yes, you — mm. You like that. You like the idea of — of *giving* yourself —" Jason laughs and groans. "I like it, *too*. I'd lick your come right out of her *cunt* if you let me —" 

And Bruce *shouts* against Jason's hand again — 

Stares wide-eyed and *wild* — 

The world is *new* in his eyes — 

And Jason has to move his hand, kiss Bruce again, lick him and grind and grind and *grind* as he pants into his mouth, tastes him, *take* — "I want *more* of you!" 

"You can have — Jason — *please*!" 

"Yes? You'll let me keep your pretty little girls from getting pregnant?" 

Bruce *jerks* and makes a *strangled* noise — 

And Jason laughs and drives himself *faster* against him, *harder* — "For *now*, anyway. We'll want you to breed *someday*, my liege..." 

"Please — I don't — I *can't* —" 

"Shh," and Jason *rolls* his tongue into Bruce's mouth — 

And lengthens it — 

And lengthens the shadow in his *arse* — 

Bruce *freezes* — and then seemingly goes *mad* beneath Jason, twisting and writhing and coming close to *fighting* Jason's touch — 

So wonderful — 

So *perfect* — 

And Jason pulls back — "You can do *this* with your lovers, too, my liege. We'll find you — we'll find you *strong* ones, powerful, beautiful and —" 

Bruce clenches and groans — 

And doesn't relax — 

And doesn't — 

And Jason breaks out in fresh sweat — he's *slick* with it, sliding on Bruce as much as he's grinding, and he's growling — 

Moaning and *gasping* — 

Bruce is still *clenching*, and the question is whether he wants Jason to *stop* thrusting, if he wants Jason to be *still* — 

Is it possible?

*Could* he still himself? 

Even with Bruce writhing beneath him so — 

So — 

But now they're groaning into each *other's* mouths, now they're moving in a rhythm too ragged to be anything but *perfect* — 

He will always *please* — 

And when Bruce begins trying to *ride* the shadow in his arse at the same *time* as he tries to drive himself against Jason — 

When he tosses his head like a restive horse — 

When he stops that and *sobs*, eyes rolling back in his head — 

Jason can do nothing but kiss him harder, *harder*, and will the shadow-ring away from his cock — 

Bruce *yells* into Jason's *mouth* — 

Jason bites Bruce's lower *lip* — 

And Bruce begins to spurt, wild and hot and wet, slick, perfect, *hot* — 

Jason growls and grins — "*Yes*, my liege! But try *this* —" 

And it *hurts* to use his shadows to peel Bruce *away* from him — especially with Bruce groaning like a *dying* man — but Bruce spurts *again* once Jason puts him on his belly, slamming against the sheets — 

And he *sobs* when Jason spreads his arse — 

And he *chants* Jason's name over and over and *over* again once Jason slips his cock between his cheeks and thrusts — 

And thrusts — 

And does his level best to torture *both* of them with the head of his cock on Bruce's puckered little hole. It — 

Oh, Bruce is *sobbing* again — 

Shaking as he — 

As he jerks and spurts *again*, according to the shadows Jason has *caressing* Bruce's cock — 

He groans — 

Jason *shoves* at Bruce's hole, stretched just a little wide with the shadow still deep within him — 

"Jason —" 

"*Yes* —" 

"*Jason*, that feels — I *want* this!" 

"You can *have* it," Jason says, laughing and teasing himself, *giving* himself — 

"I want your *penis* —" 

"You can —" 

"*Inside* me, I — it must be — you're so very *warm*, Jason!" 

Jason growls and catches himself thankfully *before* he digs *claws* into Bruce's shoulders — but he can control himself. He can *scratch* Bruce — 

Bruce moans and *shivers* — 

"Tell me — please say that *again*, my liege..." 

And Bruce pants — and turns his head on the pillow enough to look at him *shrewdly*. 

*Jason* moans — 

"It must be... a pleasure greater than most. Yes?" 

Jason pants and thrusts — "Yes —" 

Bruce narrows his eyes — 

"Please —" 

"It must be all-encompassing. Tight. *Strangling* —" 

"*Yes* —" 

Bruce growls and *clenches* — 

And Jason feels it everywhere, *everywhere*, feels it *squeezing* his cock and heating his body and teasing him — 

Teasing the twitching and *drooling* head of his cock with the flex of that hole — 

That little, *little* hole — 

And Jason is rutting now, growling and shoving, grinding, *needing* — 

He can barely *see* past the sweat-damp hair in his eyes and his own *lust* — 

He wants Bruce's *blood* — 

But Bruce is smiling. 

And *growling* so — 

So *deeply* — 

"My — my *liege* —" 

"Jason," Bruce says, and bares his *teeth*. "I think you should have an orgasm." 

"I —" 

"*Now*." 

"Oh — Hecate's *cunt*, Bruce, I —" But he's snarling, shaking, *shifting* — 

The shadows are *spilling* out of him and *through* him — 

His body is *changing* — 

And Jason is *aware* of Bruce gasping beneath him, *stiffening* beneath him in the *wrong* ways, but every sharp-toothed, dripping-tongued, bloody-taloned *beast* inside Jason — 

And right now it feels like there are *several* — 

Every last one is demanding *this*: 

*Perfect* and *ruthless* pressure on Bruce's shoulders even as Jason's claws *punch* through the duvet and sheets and *mattress* — 

Shadows to cloak them in *absolute* darkness — 

*Hot* darkness, darkness spiced with the *thick* scents of Bruce's sweat and spit and *come* — 

And Jason's own snarls and grunts and growls as he takes — 

And *takes* even as Bruce gasps, even — 

"Jason?" 

And the honest, open lack of *certainty* in Bruce's voice — 

The hint of *pain* in his scent as Jason *squeezes* Bruce's shoulders — 

He mustn't *hurt* — 

He — "I *need* you!" And that didn't sound *remotely* human, but Bruce *clenches* again — 

*Spasms* beneath him so — 

And then Jason is snarling *more* as heat floods through him, as his *cock* spasms with the pleasure of Bruce's arse, Bruce's sweat, Bruce's *helpless* body beneath him — 

So young — 

So human —

"*Mine*!" 

Bruce *coughs* a grunt — 

And Jason comes all over his arse and back, comes and jerks and comes *more* — 

He can't stop *thrusting* — 

And he won't stop, not until — 

"Oh, Jason, you — you're *marking* me!" 

Or perhaps he simply won't stop *period*. And he's laughing while he's spurting, coughing and growling and laughing *more* — 

Bruce is *shuddering* beneath him — 

And Jason has never — ever — been able to truly grow accustomed to his scents blended with a lover's, his *fluids* blended — 

He never *will* grow accustomed to it — 

Even *Guthlac* knew that such a thing was — 

"I want to *taste* you again, Jason!" 

And ejaculating *again* rips a *cry* out of him, because even everyday magic is still magic, still power, still *life* — "I want to bleed you *dry*, my liege!" And that was slurred over a thick, long demonic tongue — 

Roared and — 

"I." 

And Jason laughs desperately as his body finally, *finally* lets him slow his thrusts *down* — 

Lets him squeeze Bruce *somewhat* less convulsively — 

Lets him *breathe* as he leans in to lick the sweat from the back of Bruce's neck, as he dreams of coming on Bruce *there* — 

Lets him *shift back to human-form* —

"I... don't think you were speaking metaphorically."

Jason laughs breathlessly and does his best to *tickle* the back of Bruce's neck with his tongue — 

"Jason." 

"I *could've* been speaking metaphorically." 

"But —" 

"It is — as everything *should* be, as far as I'm concerned — as you *prefer*, my liege," Jason says, and *kisses* the back of Bruce's neck — 

And then does it again — 

And then does it *wetly* — 

Bruce *shivers* — "I've never been tempted to *entirely* exsanguinate anyone — hm." 

Jason laughs and licks his way to Bruce's right shoulder blade, then kisses him there. "Yes, my liege?" 

"I've never been tempted to entirely exsanguinate someone I *also* wanted to make love with." 

"That sounds like a failure of imagination —" 

"Jason." 

Jason laughs *meanly* and *nips* Bruce's shoulder blade. "Have I mentioned having just a few *problematic* kinks?" 

"I. Is 'problematic' the word you really want to use?" 

Jason hums and *nuzzles* — "Yes." 

"Really." 

Oh, Bruce. When you're a man, you'll have the *world* at your feet... but *I'll* be the one close enough to lick your *boots*. "*Oh*, yes," Jason says, and kisses his way down and down — 

Bruce's breathing *hitches* — 

And Jason hums *happily* when he gets to the first spatter of come mixed *liberally* with *sweat*. And then he licks — 

And licks — 

And — 

"I believe I — need you to elaborate, Jason." 

"Mmm. As you say, my liege," Jason says, and scrapes his *teeth* on the salty little spot —

"Oh —" 

"If the kinks were *worse* than merely problematic — or if they were as dangerous as *fetishes* — then I would be a *terrible* choice for the vassal of a young human boy." 

Bruce hums. "And you're absolutely sure that you're not...?" 

"The faith shines within me with the light of a thousand... hm. What *are* those terribly annoying *burn-y* things in the sky?" 

Bruce *laughs*, breathy and low — 

And Jason smiles for the thrill of it — the *joy* of it — 

And Bruce hums, turning over onto his back before sitting up on his elbows and studying Jason with what certainly *appears* to be a great deal of happiness and *relish*. Which...

"You know, my liege, I was not finished with your delicious little backside." 

Bruce coughs and blushes *dramatically* — 

And Jason licks his lips — and a fair amount of his face, as well. 

"Oh — hm. How attractive do you *find* my blushes, Jason?" 

"*Very*." 

Bruce raises an eyebrow. 

"At *least* as attractive as *those*, my liege," Jason says, laughing and kneeling up and sitting on his heels. "You have *many* fine qualities." 

"Including the palatability of my — hm." 

"Yes...?" 

Bruce raises his eyebrow *again* — higher and more belligerently this time, which truly is impressive considering the strength and apparent *durability* of his blush. Still... 

"Is there something I could help you with, my liege?" 

"You're not going to ask me what my pleasure is...?" 

Jason takes a *leisurely* look at Bruce's wonderfully naked, sweaty, mussed, and *sticky* body. "I could..." 

Bruce hums. "About... the act you committed." 

"Could you be more specific...?" And Jason looks up at Bruce through his lashes while showing his *teeth*. 

"Impressively impish... but. Ah." And Bruce's expression quirks. And twists. And generally expresses *large* amounts of rueful pain. 

And Jason *is*, occasionally, capable of pity. "*Analingus*, my liege —" 

"*Oh*. That's — an entirely logical name for it." 

"Isn't it, though? Also known — by many — as *rimming* —" 

"You were doing rather more —" 

"I most certainly *was*," Jason says, and licks his *chops* again —

Bruce narrows his *eyes* inspiringly — "Jason..." 

"Yes...?" 

"I — no. I want to concentrate. What *else* is it called? Are there other names? And — the other things we've done, as well —" 

Jason laughs and *shortens* his tongue once more — 

"And how do you *speak* normally when your tongue is *longer* than that?" 

"*Practice*, my liege. Lots and lots and *lots* of it. You'll find it's much the same with older vampires," Jason says, and lengthens... a *few* of his teeth. For a moment. 

"*Oh*. But — vampires *exist*?" 

"In some universes they rather control the *governments*. Well, some of them anyway. I do my level best to exterminate the nasty things with *extreme* prejudice when I find them *here*... and, to that end, I *haven't* found a single one in well over a century." 

Bruce blinks at him. 

"Yes?" 

"Did you... make them go *extinct*?" 

"One *hopes*." 

"I — hm." 

Jason raises an eyebrow. "My liege. We are *not* speaking about innocent little dodo birds. We're not even speaking of fully-grown, wolf-killing, lion-killing, *man*-killing *aurochs*. We are *speaking* —" 

"They... are." Bruce frowns. "I hesitate to use the term *evil* —" 

"*Don't* hesitate. While I will *admit* that vampirism comes in *many* forms — many that I have seen with my own *eyes* — the overarching *theme* among them is heartless, amoral, *unrelenting* bloodlust. Bloodlust which *cannot* be slaked with *anything* but the blood of the *sentient*. I do *not* begrudge them their need to feed themselves in order to *survive*. I *do* begrudge them their tendency — a tendency which repeats itself again and again and *again* — to treat their essential parasitism as quasi-divine 'proof' that they are at the very top of the proverbial food chain, and that everything below them thus deserves what they *get*. *Everything* they get, no matter how base, criminal, obscene, or merely disgusting. They are — *very* often — *species* of slavers, rapists, *mass* murderers, and —" 

"I — but — *not* all of them. *Surely* not all of them?" 

Jason takes a *breath* — and smiles ruefully. "No, my liege, *not* all of them. This is, as I've said, a multiverse which is *notably* devoid of absolutes. Of *any* sort. Still, there are *far* more venomous scorpions with the will to *use* that venom than there are scorpions of other sorts, and...?" And Jason raises an eyebrow. 

Bruce winces. "It is... the nature of the beast. More often than not."

"*Just* so. I meet *all* vampires with my sharpest, cruelest, *hottest* blades *out*, my liege — even if I *do* have some small reason to believe that I will not need to *use* them. I highly recommend that you do the same." 

"Hm. Presumably you'll be teaching me how to *use* a blade at some point?" 

"Oh... *many*." 

Bruce laughs softly and ruefully, once again sounding several *decades* older than he should. 

"Yes, my liege...?"

"I suppose it's very strange that I would defend a species — several species — about which I know nothing but what I've read in assorted Gothic fiction." 

"I —" 

"Strange in *predictable* ways for people who *know* me," Bruce says, and — there is bitterness in his rue. He shakes his head and looks up to meet Jason's eyes. "You were being — perfectly logical a moment ago, and I was still —" 

"Bruce. I was *also* speaking rather cavalierly of doing my *level* best to murder an *entire* sentient *species*." 

"I — hm." Bruce winces. "I find I still can't..." He shakes his head. 

Jason smiles wryly and reaches to cup Bruce's knee. "Nor should you. *Hold* to your ideals, my liege — *and* to your need to question even those who have proven themselves — hopefully — attractive *and* useful to you." 

"Oh — you *have* —" 

"*Good*. I..." Jason grins *darkly*. "I will never lead you astray on *purpose*, my liege, but the fact that I am no longer human does *not* mean that I have become more than a man with *all* of a man's *failings*. I have fears, and cruelties, and *prejudices* — among many, *many* other dark things both large and small — and any of those may cause me to lead you astray by *accident*. Doing so would wound me *deeply*... and it is far, far less likely to occur if you continue... hm. Keeping me on my *toes*." 

Bruce inhales sharply and studies him for a long moment again, and — 

"You know... every time you look at me that way, I feel myself weighed, measured, thoroughly dissected, analyzed to the smallest grain of rheum, and then carefully — *ever* so carefully — filed *away*." 

Bruce blinks. "I — I apologize —" 

"*Don't*," Jason says, and laughs, gesturing a shadow out of the lurking crowd around the bed and using it to tie back his hair. "I *love* it." 

"... why?" 

"Because it reminds me — *wonderfully* — that I am in the presence of someone truly, deeply, *remarkably* brilliant... on top of all your *other* admirable traits." 

Bruce *blushes* again — but his smile could easily fit on the face of a thirty-something *rake*. 

"Oh, *yes*, my liege...?" 

"My other admirable traits, you say." 

"I *do* say —" 

"Including... my palatability." 

Jason laughs *dirtily*. "I could taste you all *day*, my liege. Though you'd eventually have to remind me not to bite..." 

"Why would I —" 

Jason lengthens — and sharpens — *all* of his teeth. 

"I. Hm. You know, Jason, I find myself significantly less eager to be fellated again than I had been —" 

Jason laughs hard — 

And Bruce smiles, small and warm and bright. 

Jason shakes himself back to *something* like human and grins. "Beautiful. What can I tell you before I leave? What can I *give* you?" 

Bruce stares at him with happiness, affection, *light* — but then frowns. *Deeply*. 

"My liege?" 

"I — the only word that came to mind was... 'everything'," Bruce says, and his frown turns *sheepish*. "I'm reasonably sure that I don't want to develop that degree of greed." 

"*I* certainly wouldn't mind —" 

"I would." And Bruce's voice is firm, and, perhaps, as low as it can *get*. "I will not use you —" 

"My liege —" 

"— selfishly," Bruce says, and raises an eyebrow. 

Well. Jason hums and draws a small, random pattern — *not* a rune — on Bruce's knee. "Perhaps you'll allow me to be of assistance in the *crafting* of those definitions...?" 

The steadiness of Bruce's expression shivers — 

Jason smiles *sharply* — 

"I — I — you *won't* let me use you selfishly," Bruce says almost *harshly* — and it is an order. 

"My liege, there are some *kinds* of selfishness —" 

"Jason —" 

"— which can bring *transcendent* pleasure," Jason says, stroking up to Bruce's lower thigh and squeezing firmly. "For *both* parties involved. For *all* parties involved." 

Bruce blinks. "I... truly?" 

Jason smiles *gently*. "Oh, yes. I *promise* — and I promise to teach you how such a thing can be." 

"Oh —" 

"Whenever you *wish* to be taught." 

Bruce inhales somewhat *shakily* — but then he nods. "I... have many more questions." 

"I look forward to hearing — and doing my level best to *answer* — every last one of them." 

"I'm... tempted to order you to never stay to answer my questions when you'd rather do other things." 

"Oh — not *that*, my liege —" 

"I." Bruce breathes a *brief* laugh, and then smiles at Jason from under his lashes. "I must confess that I'm far more tempted toward... any number of other things." 

Jason's laugh is much, much less brief. "*Good*." 

"Do you truly..." Bruce licks his lips and smiles *wryly*. "I believe you know what I want to ask." 

"And *I* believe that the next *several* years will be one — pleasant — shock after another for you as you find yourself veritably *surrounded* by people who recognize how perfectly wonderful, beautiful, and *fascinating* you are, and who will find all *sorts* of ways to let you *know* it." 

Bruce *stares* at him for a long moment — and then shivers. "You... truly..." 

"I do not *believe* that, my liege. I *know* it. I have every intention of making it *happen*, after all," Jason says, and smiles just a bit *evilly*.

"Hm. I'm back to thinking of you as a — but of course all the tales of the Fair Folk which *weren't* bowdlerized for children strongly suggest that they aren't *like* you. Or kind or noble in *any* way. Hm. Are they —" 

"They are *entirely* inhuman, my liege. And I use that word judiciously. While some few of them can and do choose to *appear* as human from time to time, the various species — as a rule — have no need for and no attachment to *any* of humanity's qualities — be they strengths *or* weaknesses." 

Bruce frowns. "Was that... usually your warnings are more clear." 

Jason laughs. "So they are. The Fair Folk are even more *individual* than *other* peoples of the multiverse — to the point where I *highly* recommend you doing your *level* best to avoid referring to their species by any name at *all* should you find yourself sharing space with one or more of them, as they most assuredly do *not* agree on how *to* refer to themselves." 

"I — hm. You're saying that you don't feel *comfortable* warning me against them as a matter of course." 

"Just so, my liege —" 

"But you *were* comfortable warning me against *vampires*, even though you said — implied — that at least some of them weren't evil." 

Jason grins. "Some of them have even been a help to me. A *great* help." 

"Then —" 

"I *did* mention my prejudices..." 

Bruce frowns *direfully* — 

And Jason laughs somewhat helplessly. "I'm *joking*, my liege. Mostly. It would be more... fair to say that, in my experience, an entirely helpful — if not entirely benevolent — Fae can and will be more *spectacularly* helpful than an entirely helpful vampire." 

"I — are you certain about that?" 

Jason licks the edges of his teeth. "No —" 

"So it *is* prejudice." 

"I —" 

"Jason." 

Jason laughs more. "Be gentle with me, my liege. I am a *blood*-mage. Vampires are predators on my *territory*." 

Bruce blinks, obviously *considering* — 

*Deeply* considering — 

"I — Jason, would you say —" 

"They also smell funny," Jason says, in a *wildly* exaggerated stage-whisper. 

Bruce *coughs* a laugh — it rather sounds as if it's been *punched* out of him — "*Jason*." 

And Jason grins. "You should punish me *severely*, my liege." 

"For *which* offense?" 

Jason makes a show of thinking about it — "Hmm. I think... for the crime of having *entirely* too much fun with my life," he says, and grins more broadly. 

Bruce stares at him *hungrily*. "I — I want that." 

"I will *happily* spend the *length* of your existence —" 

"I meant. I meant that I want *you* to have fun. And be happy," Bruce says, and his expression is — not hollow. Nothing so sharp and full and *wild* could ever be described as *hollow*. But the *depth* of his steely blue eyes — 

The *need* within them — 

And the hunger. 

Jason moves close to Bruce once more, cupping his face and kissing him again and again and again, *taking* Bruce's absolute *intensity* for his own — 

And *immediately* beginning to think decidedly *dangerous* thoughts about rescheduling Etrigan once Bruce begins to *bite* him. His upper lip — 

His lower lip — 

His chin and throat and *collarbone* — 

"Bruce." 

Bruce groans quietly and stills himself. "I... believe I know what you're going to say," he says, pulling back and smiling up into Jason's eyes so *ruefully*. 

Jason smiles back. "Beautiful. I believe you will learn *quickly* how *very* much I long to *stay* in your company." 

"I —" 

Jason clears his throat — and points *down*. 

Bruce looks down and *blinks* — and then narrows his eyes and licks his lips. 

"Oh, yes...?" 

"I quite enjoyed tasting you earlier, Jason." 

"That makes me *ecstatically* —" 

"Does Etrigan make love with humans?" 

"I." 

"Hm. But you said he finds the species distasteful." 

Jason bites his tongue *viciously* — "Yes, my liege —" 

"I... was trying to distract myself with that question. From my other questions." And Bruce smiles ruefully again. 

"Did it *work*...?" 

"No." 

"Did it raise countless *new* questions?" 

"Yes," Bruce says, and ruefulness becomes sheepishness. "I... want to speak with you. More." 

And there are... so very many possibilities there. The question is — 

No, there *is* no question. 

"My liege..." And Jason licks his lips and cups Bruce's right hand, bringing it to his chest — 

"Oh. Oh, I like feeling your heart beat," Bruce says, and looks *precisely* like a boy determined to learn everything about someone else *by* the study of that other person's heartbeat. 

"I like feeling your hands on me —" 

"Then — but I know you have to leave —" 

"We... will *not* be able to speak while Etrigan has control of this soul." 

Bruce frowns and nods, and does not speak — and *does* make obvious and *Herculean* efforts to hide his disappointment. Which — 

"One moment," Jason says, and looks within himself. The privacy-wall between Etrigan and himself — which is, as ever, only as strong as they *both* allow it to be — is, in this moment, clear and blank and free of everything that could hurt them. They *have* been quiet with each other over the last few decades, and that *is* all to the good — 

Jason touches the wall lightly. 

Etrigan's appearance is as immediate as it should be, considering the fact that it's only by massive acts of *mutual* will that the wall actually works to *let* them keep — something like — their privacy. 

Or the illusion of it. And — 

Etrigan is saying nothing, at all, to him, but his usual burn is slow and banked — and *not* due to anything *remotely* like weakness — and there is a certain degree of patient *curiosity* in his expression. And *that*, Jason must admit, is worth a *great* deal. 

And so Jason — gently — turns their attention to Bruce, and to his youth, and to his beauty, and to his *needs* —

Etrigan looks at him with *wryly* dark distaste. 

Jason says nothing *whatsoever* about the various individuals Jason has woken up smelling like due to *Etrigan's* tastes — 

Except, of course, in that way where even *thinking* it is enough to be *heard* — 

And he is going to try to be — 

_Nice...?_

Jason feels everything about himself try to *recoil* — 

And Etrigan's laugh isn't *loud* — he *doesn't* have *control* of this soul, yet, and thus *can't* make an actual *sound* — but it *is* rather all-encompassing just the same. 

And, if Jason is *going* to be honest with himself — and he *is* — the laugh is also well-deserved, considering everything that Etrigan has *absolutely* been observing for himself over the course of the day. 

So. 

Jason sighs a *bit* dramatically — but absolutely *honestly* — and then very deliberately inclines his head. 

And there is a pause which... lasts. 

Outside of this body — this *soul* — Bruce is waiting patiently and curiously as time passes in entirely average ways for this particular plane of existence. 

In *here*... 

In here, he and Etrigan are sharing a look which, while it *does* exist on a temporal scale Bruce can understand, *also* exists in rather *other* ways. 

Etrigan is sharing with Jason how it had felt the last time — two hundred thirty-one years ago — Jason had cursed him, and left him with the all-too-real sensation of thoroughly-cursed blood to sicken and weaken and *burn* him — not so easy a feat with a fire-demon, but Jason had put his *back* into it — for a space of time Jason now knows had seemed to last for *decades*. 

The fact that it had only given Jason a *week* of peace — *solitude* — 

In this moment, that is meaningless. 

Jason shares with Etrigan the last time Etrigan had cursed *him*, leaving Jason lost in an endless, vivid nightmare filled with the tortured cries of every lover Jason had had to *date* — 

Filled with the scents of their suffering, their pain and blood and *betrayal* — and the eventual scents of piss and *shit* and *death* as their dream-bodies finally, finally gave out from the punishments Etrigan had thought up for them.

Etrigan had made that nightmare last for, well, *decades*. 

Jason shares the feel of it, shares his *vulnerability* as Etrigan had shared his own — 

Shares it *knowing* that Etrigan had wanted just that at the time — and for the centuries *after* it. He'd wanted to revel in Jason's pain, and misery, and *sickness* — 

Just as Jason had wanted to revel in Etrigan's own for all of *his* curses. 

They are — neither of them — doing anything of the kind in this moment. 

They are looking at each other, and sharing with each other, and — 

_Perhaps admitting to a degree of shared... personhood._

Jason snorts. _Dare we...?_

Etrigan shows his teeth... but not in threat. _Have we decided we wish to survive — *thrive* — more than we wish to make one another suffer?_

And that was perhaps a *bit* catty — 

Etrigan is *laughing* again — 

And which of them, precisely, struck the first blow all those years ago? 

Which of them could be blamed for letting Morgan get *away* from them — until, of course, she could do nothing of the kind? 

They look at each other again — *into* each other — and Etrigan's expression is wry, once more. 

But it cannot possibly be *more* wry than Jason's own. _I believe, old companion, that *this* is where I admit to being something of a *bitch*._

_Dogs tend to smell better than you do._

Jason *looks* at Etrigan. 

And Etrigan... inclines his head. _This is, almost certainly, where I confess to being somewhat violent._

Jason looks at Etrigan *louder*. 

_Perhaps even vengeful._

Jason narrows his *eyes* — 

And this time when Etrigan shows his teeth, smoke curls from the corners of his mouth. _Perhaps even excessively so. From time to time._

And that — is more than worth another snort. 

And a shared memory of just a *few* of the people they've been excessively violent and vengeful with *together* over the years — 

Etrigan's satisfaction is warmth for *both* of them — 

And even the *memory* of bathing in blood — *rivers* of it, truly — is enough to put a smile on Jason's face sometimes. 

_You remain a disgusting savage._

Jason sighs. _And *you* remain a *ponce*... but. I believe I *would* like to take up this *thriving* thing._

_Mm. As would I. Truce._

_Just like that...?_

_You've been distracted for much of the day, Blood. *I've* spent the day thinking about what my existence would be like were your body — *this* body — to be effectively *crippled*._

And that... is a very *sharp* point. Considering — _And there is, of course, the question of how well your own body could be protected... well._

Etrigan grunts... committally. 

They stare at each other for another long moment — 

Etrigan raises his brow ridge *pointedly* — 

And Jason smiles ruefully. _We're rather egregiously slow about this._

Etrigan spreads his hands — a gesture he is allowing Jason to *see* that he had taken from Jason. _I am not surprised by our stubbornness. Not at this late date._

_Should we really call it simply *stubbornness*?_

_Did *you* wish to admit to depths of stupidity which could only be described as suicidal, Blood?_

Jason... allows himself to feel *all* of that hit. 

Especially since Etrigan is allowing Jason to see *him* feeling all of it.

They are — 

They've been... phenomenally, magnificently, incomprehensibly, and, yes, *suicidally* stupid, and it is *past* time to admit that only a *frightening* degree of the *dumbest* luck has saved them from themselves — 

_Not only that —_

_Etrigan._

_*Not*. Only that. You made yourself a master swordsman while I was still struggling to learn your barbaric languages._ And Etrigan raises his brow-ridge again. 

_And you... made yourself a *most* impressive beast, red in tooth and claw —_

_*Just* as Mother prefers Her children._

Jason raises *his* eyebrow. _I was under the impression that the All-Mother loved you all *just* the way you were._

Etrigan laughs again. _She does. But She's happiest when we can — and do — protect ourselves._

_Meaning she was bloody well hacked-off at you for the last *millennium*?_

_Just. So._ And Etrigan shows his teeth again — but only for a moment. _She will be pleased by this, and She will look for ways to reward you... and the boy._

Oh... 

_Mm. I can tell that pleases you. I suppose I should be glad this one knows how to bathe himself, unlike all your earth-mages. You could encourage him to do it more often._

_Or not._

Etrigan gives him a *sour* look — but there is actual light within it, and that... is telling.

_You've been waiting for this._ And Jason lets *all* of the wonder into his voice, all of the *realization* — 

_I was old when your grandmother's grandmother was a babe, Blood._

And that is, in fact, an answer. Jason lets himself be *wry*, too. But — _What *precisely* is your excuse for waiting for *me* to reach out?_

_Some — *some* — have said, in the past —_

_The *distant* past, I'm sure —_

_— that I can be... contrary. Among other things._ And there is *enough* light in Etrigan's expression now that it can't properly be called *sour*, at all. 

And... 

They really, truly are doing this. *This*. 

Finally. Jason shivers — 

_Make your bond with the boy, Blood. I will allow him to speak with you when he needs to do so._

Jason shivers *hard* — _Etrigan —_

_Say 'thank you'._

Jason barks a laugh within the shifting silences of their soul, within the warmth which, for *once*, has nothing of ominousness or *threat*. _*Thank* you. *Very* much. Consider me —_

_At my disposal, Blood...?_

Well... _In your debt,_ Jason temporizes, and lets every bit of his *ruefulness* be shared. 

Etrigan laughs with *great* relish. _I believe I'll find a way to enjoy that... in time._

_I'm sure. But..._

_Yes?_

Jason turns their attention back to Bruce, who is now *actively* studying Jason's body — which, to him, must seem hardly inhabited at all in this moment. He's taking Jason's *pulse* — 

_You'll need to teach that boy more caution, Blood._

_Agreed —_

_You believe he truly wants to communicate with me._

_While I cannot be sure how *much* time you spent brooding on our undoubtedly ignominious —_

_And painful._

_And *painful* —_

_And gore-streaked._

_And *gore*-streaked —_

_And —_

_Etrigan._

Another laugh. _Do you realize... at some point one or both of us is going to *relax*, Blood. And then nothing untoward is going to *happen*. To *either* of us._

Jason blinks. 

And blinks — 

And tries to... tries... he frowns.

_Mm, yes, I know. You can't quite imagine it, yet. Well, I've been *dreaming* of it for years. It's a beautiful dream, I assure you. Perhaps I'll even share it sometime —_

_I... believe I would enjoy that._

Etrigan looks at him, narrow and wry and amused and happy and stunned all at once. 

Jason knows he is no less... full. He inclines his head again.

Etrigan inclines his own. _I will introduce myself to the boy when I've completed my business. Make sure to tell him that I *have* business of my own —_

_And no *great* desire to spend time in the company of reeking humans, yes. I..._

_Yes, Blood?_

_Is there anything else I can do for you while I have control of this soul?_

Etrigan blinks. 

And stares. 

And *stares*, which —

_I can be civilized, *too* —_

_There is nothing I need at this time, Blood — save to tell you that I greatly anticipate working with you to discover what we will be able to do — and do to the hapless and low — now that we are not at war with one another._

_Oh... *yes*._

Etrigan laughs *again* — and then bows as he slips back into the darkness of their soul, into the shadows built and maintained and *inhabited* by their third — and.

Jason reaches for the shadow *carefully* in an attempt to communicate, which is something *neither* he nor Etrigan have been especially successful with over the centuries of the shadow's existence. Either the shadow takes *over* a certain portion of their selves or he simply... exists within them, sharing generously of his power for his own reasons and to his own as yet unknowable *ends*. 

This time, Jason's attempt at communication ends with the shadow *looking* at him — but his silence is complete. Far more so than Jason's or Etrigan's could ever *be*. 

There is an *absence* of sound — of *sensation* — where the shadow is choosing to present itself within their shared soul, and that means... what? 

The shadow says nothing. 

Jason frankly hasn't the faintest clue whether the shadow *can* communicate in any of the ways Jason is familiar with.

He doesn't know if the shadow *understands* communication. The point of it. The joys and possibilities — 

Though, of course, the shadow has had the past seven and a half *centuries* to observe — at length and in *depth* — just how very much his companions have *hated* sharing a soul. And to observe what a cock-up they've *made* of that sharing. 

Perhaps... there will be *other* changes in the future. 

Jason inclines his head to the shadow, and then turns his attention back to Bruce, who is *very* much in the process of *leaving* the bed — "Don't do *that*, my liege..." 

Bruce *jumps*... but then turns around slowly and with a *wry* look on his face. "You enjoyed surprising me just then." 

Well... "Perhaps a little —" 

"Where did you go?" 

"To a space within myself," Jason says, and reaches for Bruce with both hands. 

"Oh. Yes?" 

Jason inclines his head once *more*. "I was speaking with Etrigan." 

And, all at once, Bruce's excitement is *palpable*. He *grips* Jason's hands and crawls back onto the bed, shuffling close on his knees until he's all but straddling Jason's *lap* — 

And Jason fights *down*... *most* of the thoughts he's having about Bruce riding his cock — 

"Please tell me —" 

— but he absolutely does *not* stop himself from kissing Bruce hard — 

"*Mm* — oh —" 

And doing it again — 

"Yes — oh, *yes*," and Bruce twists his hands free of Jason's and cups Jason's face instead, pushing it into the position *he* wants it in — 

Jason moans *happily* — 

"And — you enjoy a certain degree of aggression from me —" 

"*Very* much —" 

Bruce growls and bites Jason's lower lip *hard* — 

"Nnh — Cerberus's *cock* —" 

"I." Bruce frowns — 

Jason laughs — 

Bruce licks where he'd bitten — *sucks* — 

"Oh — oh, I like that —" 

"I like it, too — I've wondered." 

"Yes?" 

"Did Cerberus — wait, does the Greek pantheon exist?" 

"*Vigorously*. And *dangerously*. Many of them have been a great help to Hippolyta over the years, and Hippolyta has, of course, been a great help to the Justice Society and, thus, the *multiverse* —" 

"But they're dangerous. Like... all gods?" 

Jason hums and nuzzles Bruce's mouth, licks — "Everyone is dangerous, my liege. *Everyone*. Though... I do recommend being even *more* careful of gods than you are of other beings." 

"That seems entirely — how many penises does Cerberus have?" 

Jason grins and *stabs* his tongue into Bruce's beautiful, perfect, *random* mouth — 

And then makes it longer — 

And *longer* — 

Bruce gurgles and *shakes* — 

And Jason pulls out and shortens his tongue again. "Just the one. It's quite impressive, though — if not *quite* three cocks in one — and he has been known to wield it with *great* skill and vigor." 

Bruce stares at him. 

"Did you *not* want me to answer your question?" 

"I... continue to harbor the hope that your answering my questions will not lead to my having... still more questions. Disturbing questions," Bruce says, and frowns. 

Jason laughs *delightedly*. "A life of questions is a life in which you will never be *bored*, my liege —" 

"Isn't wishing someone an 'interesting' life a *curse*?" 

"Actually, in *most* of the universes I've visited, that's rather an egregiously Westernized myth —" 

Bruce raises an eyebrow at him. 

Jason coughs. "Even if it *were* a curse, my liege, it would be one of the friendlier ones, as these things go," Jason says, wrapping his arms around Bruce and squeezing *firmly* — 

"Oh — I like —" Bruce hugs him back immediately and *convulsively* — 

And Jason grunts happily. "I love you *very* much, my liege —" 

"I. I." And Bruce moans and shudders. 

"Shh, it's all right. All is well, and you need never worry about making declarations to me," Jason says, and squeezes harder — 

*Bruce* grunts — 

"Not when I can feel you with all of myself." Jason kisses Bruce's temple. "Not when I can taste your *happiness* with me on the *air*." 

"Yes — I — I'm *happy*!" 

Jason purrs. "Will you let me make you happy day in and day out for as long as you live, my liege?" 

"Please. I — but —" 

Jason laughs softly. "That will make *me* happy," he says, in an exaggeratedly conspiratorial whisper — 

And Bruce shudders in Jason's arms and strokes his back, kisses his throat, struggles to press closer, *fights* to press *closer* — 

The tension in him is so powerful — 

The need and excitement and — Jason flares his nostrils — yes, the scent of worry slowly and *steadily* spiraling up to panic. That — 

No. Jason *drops* Bruce onto his back on the bed — 

"Oh — Jason, please —" 

"Shh, shh," Jason says, and *covers* Bruce with his body, wishing for a moment that he weighed much more — no. He can give Bruce *many* parts of himself to make this *right*. He strengthens his limbs enough to make it impossible for Bruce to move — 

"Nnh —" 

He forces himself to *sweat* more — 

"Oh... oh, I want..." 

"Everything is yours, my liege," he says, and calls the shadows once more, making them coil and dance around the bed until they block every other part of the *room*. 

And Bruce pants and stares up at him — 

Shivers while his *wrists* twitch under Jason's hands — 

"I don't. I don't know what I'll do without you." 

Jason gasps and squeezes Bruce's wrists much too *hard* — 

"I don't know. Please don't. I promise I won't —" And Bruce frowns deeply, *miserably* — 

"Bruce..." 

"Please. You must tell me how to make *you* happy, Jason —" 

"You do it by *existing*, my liege —"

"You must tell me how to keep from — from chasing you *away* from me!" 

And for a moment all Jason can think of is the fact that he *must* surrender control to Etrigan — 

All he can feel is the old — *ancient* — *resentment*. But... 

"Things have changed, my liege," Jason says, and leans in to kiss Bruce's forehead, and his cheeks, and his *impressive* chin — 

"I. What?" 

"Etrigan has agreed to allow the two of us to communicate even when *he* is in control of our soul." 

"Oh — *oh*. But you did say that you had — have you truly made peace with him?" And Bruce is searching him with excitement in his eyes, with so much *thrill* — 

Bruce has no *true* sense what the past millennium has been like between Etrigan and himself, but — 

But he is *also* anything but a fool. It's *entirely* possible — *probable* — that he had read between the *lines*. 

Jason smiles ruefully. "*Etrigan* was only waiting for me to make the *overture*, my liege. He was — *we* were — *vastly* overdue to make peace, as you so rightly made clear," he says, and bows his head. "I give you my thanks and allegiance, my liege, and I will always work to be worthy of your guidance in the years to come." 

"My — I — *Jason* —" 

Jason laughs and looks up again, kissing Bruce's mouth. "Do *not* deny that you guided me, dear one. That would be as wrong — as *foolish* — as it would be for *me* to deny that I sometimes *require* guidance." And Jason raises an eyebrow. 

Bruce takes a *quick* breath. "I want to give you everything — but."

Jason sighs and *strokes* Bruce's wrists with his thumbs. "What don't you wish to give me?" 

"Foul things. Dull things. *Incorrect* things — I want everything I *say* to you to — to make you *happier*, or at least interested in — in. Staying," Bruce says, and frowns. "I believe that's selfish." 

"Perhaps more *obsessive* than selfish —" 

"I. Don't think that's a better trait." 

"I find *both* of them quite attractive, my liege." 

Bruce frowns *at* him — 

And Jason laughs *more*. "*All* right. Think of it this way: If I know you're obsessing about me, and thinking about holding me ever-so-selfishly to your bosom —" 

"Then. Then you know you're... welcome. Desired," Bruce says, and shows *every* sign of a boy having a revelation. Which is — perhaps — somewhat problematic. 

Jason kisses Bruce's chin again. "Just so, my liege. However... I will say that you must be careful with such things when it comes to your *other* lovers." 

"I don't *have* — but. You. You're going to." Bruce swallows and blinks rapidly and stares up at him so... 

Jason smiles ruefully. "You are so very, very beautiful. The *amount* of pleasure I'm going to take from positively *pelting* you with the young and beautiful and *worthy*... well. You'll get to *experience* it for yourself. I *promise*." 

Bruce nods and *stares* — 

And Jason grins. "My liege. You will be careful with your new loves. You will *study* them — in *depth*, because they will be people worthy of such things. You'll *want* to study them, *anyway*... but some of the *first* things you will study — no matter what tangents your marvelously *catholic* mind will wish to send you scurrying along — will be how your new loves respond to *being* loved... and how they respond to being loved in various *ways*." 

"Yes — oh. Some people — Mother didn't *enjoy* being... being *smothered*." 

"No, she did *not*. Except for *literally*, and then only sometimes." 

"I." 

Jason grins broadly. "I'll tell you all *about* it —" 

"Please don't." 

Jason *blinks*. "No...?" 

And *Bruce* smiles ruefully. "Please don't drive me to *beg* you not to leave — or. Etrigan will truly allow us to communicate?" 

"Oh, yes —" 

"But *how*? And will you be — you intimated that he wouldn't be in this *dimension*, Jason." 

"Should you choose to share more blood with me, I can build a firmer connection between us, my liege. And then you will be able to hear me — and feel me — deep within yourself." 

"*Oh*. I — even when...?" 

Jason inclines his head. "I will not say that you will *always* be able to contact me — that sort of promise is rather *asking* for it — but it will certainly be possible for you to do so *most* of —" 

"*Do* it!" 

Jason growls *softly*. "Have I mentioned that I love your *assertiveness*, my liege? Because —" 

"Jason." And Bruce narrows his eyes, making them look even *steelier* — 

Which is *impressive* — 

Everything *about* his liege is — well. *Some* things will need time to grow. 

For *now*, Jason releases Bruce's wrists and kneels up, shifting enough that the fingernails on his right hand become perfectly serviceable claws. "Where may I open you, my liege? Where do you wish to feel my *mark*?" 

*Bruce* growls — and it isn't soft, at all. "I suppose 'everywhere' isn't a helpful answer." 

"Oh, no, my liege. It's an *extraordinarily* helpful answer to my *cock* —" 

Bruce breathes a laugh — 

And Jason grins. "The *rest* of me is hoping for a *bit* more specificity, however." 

Bruce closes his eyes for a long moment — and when he opens them his eyes are as wild as Martha's ever were, as *Hezekiah's* ever were, as open and thrilled and *full*. *His* grin is *voracious* —

"Oh, yes, my liege?" 

"Many members of the Justice Society wear their identities on their chests. They — would you say that, in at least some cases, those are their *true* names, Jason?" 

Jason parts his *lips* — and lets himself taste Bruce on the air. Just for a moment. "Quite, quite often —" 

"And such things — they *do* have power, do they not?" 

Jason doesn't claw at Bruce's chest *yet* — "They do, my liege." 

Bruce nods decisively and sits up on his elbows — and then circles a space over his sternum. "Here." 

Jason shivers. "You wish to wear a mark —"

"I wish to wear *your* mark — my first truly *important* scar — in a place with... meaning," Bruce says, and his voice is still low, still dark, still serious. "I believe you can understand that." 

Oh... "With all of myself, my liege. Do you have a preference as to the —" 

"There are... designs you can carve. Letters — no. Runes?" 

Jason shivers. "There are, but —" 

"But they would give you power over me, correct?" 

"Many of them. In many different ways —" 

"You don't want that," Bruce says, and it's *not* a question, but — 

Jason lowers his head just the same. "I belong to you, my liege," he says, and emphasizes the 'you' *subtly* — 

There is a *pause* — 

Bruce inhales with a *shudder* — 

"So you do," Bruce says, and his voice is low, quiet, *rough* — and he taps his sternum again. "Mark me, Jason, but do not... own me." 

"Yes, my —" 

"Let me feel every moment of it." 

Jason *grunts* — 

"Let me feel..." Bruce narrows his eyes. "The mark *will* scar?" 

"Yes, my liege. It will heal *to* a scar nearly immediately upon my marking you. Nothing else would be safe —"

"And... I imagine it's possible for you to alter — control? — the severity of the scar?"

For a moment, Jason is *enough* of a fool that he nearly says something about making the scar *mild* — but then he remembers *precisely* who he is speaking with. 

The beautiful, *perfect* boy —

And Jason grins and *lengthens* his claws. "The scar can be as harsh as you wish it to be, my liege. It can also... well. Perhaps you would desire something more like a brand?" 

Bruce blinks and stares at Jason's claws — and frowns. "That's... but perhaps I should know better than to ask if something is possible with you?" 

Jason laughs. "I'm deeply flattered. And even *more* deeply inclined toward making myself *desperately* impressive —" 

"You *are* —" 

"But I could be more so," Jason says, and reaches down to *tap* Bruce's sternum with the — heated — tip of the claw on his index finger — 

Bruce gasps — 

"Should you choose a brand... Etrigan would be pleased. Aesthetically, anyway."

"*Oh* — I *would* like... hm. Would *you* be pleased?" 

Jason grins. "It would be *my* mark on you, my liege. I could be nothing less. And..." Jason licks his lips. "You would feel the burn of it for quite some time after it healed. Magical brands are like that." 

Bruce shivers and growls. "Then do it — unless there is some other form of scar which would please you both — or the shadow? — more?" 

"No, my liege — well. Neither Etrigan nor I *know* what would please the shadow. Perhaps you'll encourage him to speak to us one of these nights." 

"I —" 

"Shh," Jason says, and *presses* with the tip of his claw — 

Bruce *moans* — 

And they breathe in the thin, pale smoke of burning together — 

"That — oh, that —" 

"Worry *not*, my liege. *This* sort of burning will lead to neither infections *nor* a need for skin grafts." 

Bruce hums. "I had my suspicions, but..." And Bruce shudders and arches *slowly*, *carefully*. "What pattern...?" 

"Something simple which will appear — to the *vast* majority of observers — entirely random, my liege," Jason says, and opens Bruce further — 

Bruce moans and shudders so *lightly* — 

And Jason pulls the blood up and out — 

Guides a shadow to the space above the bed and orders it to *hold* the blood — and to hold it warm — 

"Something... oh, my liege..." 

"This. This arouses you." Again, *not* a question... 

"Very much so," Jason says, and claws Bruce in a way... yes it will look *much* like Bruce had been *hit* with something sharp and burning, something which had *broken* even while it burned — 

"I... I'll have to..." Bruce moans again and blinks, trembles — 

He *stops* himself from trembling so *perfectly* — 

His eyes have grown somewhat glassy. Somewhat *dazed* —

Jason licks his lips and tastes burning on the air, tastes flesh and blood and — "Please tell me, my liege." 

"I'll have to *explain* this," Bruce says, and laughs with *delight*. Honest *delight* —

Jason feels himself *thicken* — 

"Perhaps — perhaps an exploding light bulb?" 

"I believe, my liege, that the glass used for such things is much too thin —" 

"Mm, yes... oh, Jason... I'm going to want your tongue on this wound..." 

Jason *grunts* — 

And Bruce shows his teeth. "Yes, I thought you'd enjoy that thought. I love you." 

Jason *yanks* his hand back before he can claw Bruce *unduly* — 

"That was too much for your control." 

"Yes — my liege —" 

"I found it difficult to say before," Bruce says, and stretches — no. He rolls his head on his neck and bares his teeth *more*. "I've been terrified of saying the words since the alley, Jason. Can you guess why?" 

Jason shudders. "It's — were you frightened of losing someone else you spoke the words to?" 

"To a certain extent," Bruce says, looking down at his chest critically... "You're not finished." 

"No, I... I need slightly more blood —" 

"Finish." 

"I —" 

"Do it now." 

Jason shudders more and *groans* — and lowers his head. "Yes, my liege," he says, and sets to work finishing a mark which will, perhaps, look something like the result of a broken casserole dish, or an accident involving one of those clever little cigarette lighters in vehicles. Though what *Bruce* would've been doing with *either* of those things — 

No, *let* him appear to have some *mundane* mystery to his life, and — 

And let him bleed for Jason. Let him give *up* his blood — 

Let it rise as the smoke rises — 

And Jason's *cock* rises for the scents, for the sensations, for the *fact* — 

And *Bruce's* cock rises — and Bruce is meeting his gaze with steady and *perfect* force. 

"When you look at me like that..." Jason hums and licks the edges of his *teeth*. "I feel *strongly* that I am not *enough* on my knees, my liege." 

Bruce raises an eyebrow — and then nods thoughtfully. "I will keep that in mind," he says, and it is... a promise *and* a threat. 

Jason licks his lips. "Thank you very much, my liege," he says, and makes certain that *all* of his gratitude is in his voice, all of his hunger and *joy* — 

Bruce *growls* — "I didn't *tell* my parents that I loved them before they were murdered, Jason." 

And Jason can *focus* — "No?"

Bruce shows his teeth *coldly* for a moment — and then growls again and shakes his head. "I was foolish as a child —" 

"Bruce —" 

"*Wait*." 

Jason asks himself a sincere question about whether or not he plans to listen to his *cock* for the rest of Bruce's existence. He *doesn't* — 

But he can *absolutely* listen to it right. This. *Second*. 

"Yes, my liege," he says, and finishes the scarring — 

And Bruce shudders and licks his lips — 

And they *both* watch the bloody shadow *dance* above them for a moment — 

And then Bruce *looks* at him — and into him. "I was foolish as a child," he says again, voice as even and affect as *clear* as though Jason hadn't just *branded* him, as though he isn't *burning* even as they speak, aching and *throbbing* — 

Jason can *smell* it — and *taste* his liege's *enduring* control.

Bruce smiles *harshly*. "I believed that happiness could last forever. I believed that any *number* of things could last forever — hnn." Bruce tilts his head to the side and *examines* Jason. "I suppose some things do." 

"One does one's best." 

Bruce wets his lips. "I find that many children — and other young people, and older people, and everyone in between — take various aspects of their lives for granted, Jason. Have you found this to be true?" 

"Yes, my liege —" 

"I will not do the same. I have been... doing my *best* to fight against the various drives to do the same. The drives that strike — and *push* — even after *tragedy* strikes," Bruce says, and *growls* again —

"I wish to soothe you, my liege —" 

"I will allow that. I will *enjoy* that," Bruce says... and smiles again. "But not yet." 

Jason shivers — and inclines his head, feeling himself want more. *Need* more — 

Feeling himself *ache* more — 

He licks his already-wet lips. "As you say, my liege." 

Bruce sighs. "You're... hungry for me." 

"Yes, my liege." 

"That seems perfectly rational to you." 

"Yes —" 

"Perfectly *correct*." 

"*Yes*, my liege —" 

Bruce growls *again* — and shakes his head. "You'll teach me that. You'll teach me everything *about* that, because I believe..." Bruce sighs and looks down at the *brand* on his chest again. "I believe *those* lessons will teach me everything I need to know about how to *best* please you." And Bruce looks up again — 

*Pins* Jason with a look — 

"Or do you disagree." 

Well. Jason licks his lips *again* — "My liege, I believe the *most* accurate answer to that question would be a heartfelt moan as I swallow your *cock* —" 

"Be serious." 

"I —" 

"Now," Bruce says, and raises an eyebrow. 

And that — is more than worth the twitch of Jason's cock *and* the sweat gathering in the hollow of his spine. Jason shivers and inclines his head. "Yes, my liege. I..." He smiles softly. "I vastly enjoy your dominance, and your aggression, and your *control*. You are a *remarkable* boy, and you show every sign of someone who will grow into a truly *phenomenal* man — in terms of your *absolute* leadership. I will do anything — and *everything* — I must do to remain in your sphere of *influence*, my liege. I will do what I must solely to be able to *watch* you grow — and far, far more than that to be able to *taste* that growth in *all* of its forms —" 

"Very well —" 

"Please, my liege. There is more." 

And Bruce's expression is... 

Jason laughs quietly. "Your very skepticism tells me that you *know* what I will say — and doubt it *highly* — but I will not ever lie to you. It would be... anathema." 

Bruce lifts his chin *slightly* — *not* dangerously — and then nods. "Go on." 

"I believe we have *effectively* proven that there is great pleasure which can be found between us should we make love with *myself* in an at least *somewhat* dominant position —" 

"You *don't* desire —" 

"I *do*, my liege," Jason says, and shifts his hand back to something much more human before *covering* the brand on Bruce's chest — 

Bruce *grunts* — 

"I want to hurt you." 

"Jason —" 

"I want to make you bleed — again and *again*." 

Bruce *stares* at him, wide-eyed and *shocked* — 

And Jason smiles *gently*. "I want to bend you over and fuck you *hard*, my liege. I want to do it until you shout, and until you scream, and — *perhaps* — until you *weep* —" 

"Would that — would that make you —"

"It would make me *ache*, my liege. And *wallow* in the desperate intensity of *our* pleasure," Jason says, and *presses* on the brand — 

Bruce gasps and *grunts* again — 

Shudders — 

And moans, low and sweet and so very beautiful. "Jason..." 

"I will not allow you to deny yourself pleasure with me, my liege." 

Bruce narrows his eyes *mulishly* — 

And Jason grins and laughs *hard*. "My liege... you wish to please me above all things, do you not?" 

"*Yes*!" 

Jason licks his lips and leans in. "Do you remember what *I* wish...?" 

Bruce blinks — and blushes deeply. "I... see." 

"Yes...?" 

"These things... become difficult to remember," Bruce says, and smiles sheepishly. "I want... your pleasure in my *dominance* is so *clear*."

"And my pleasure in your submission is — hm. But it is the *absolute* truth that I had you on your *belly* while I was rather having my *way* with you, isn't it." 

Bruce blushes *more* deeply — 

And Jason grins. "My liege... I believe you should give me another order." 

Bruce raises an eyebrow. "Are you *quite* sure about that?" 

Jason laughs and presses just a *bit* harder on the brand — 

And Bruce's moan is — entirely inspiring. 

"You like that pain." 

"It's. Making me sweat." 

Jason inhales *deeply* — "Yes, it is. Your sweat makes me *hard*, my liege." 

Bruce looks down — and narrows his eyes. "I have... thoughts about the sorts of orders I'd like to give you." 

Jason *purrs*. "Let's... not get ahead of ourselves —" 

"No...?" And *then* Bruce looks up again, smiling wryly and darkly and hungrily and — 

And this is, perhaps, *why* Bruce is so *very* certain of the desirability of his inner — and outer, and *everywhere* — *dominant*. 

Jason can still smell him *aching* — 

"I am at your feet *always*, my liege —" 

"But...?" 

Jason takes a *breath* — and shivers. "*But*... I believe you should order me to always work to please you, my liege —" 

"Jason —" 

"— no matter what form that pleasure takes, and no matter how much it aches for *both* of us to watch me *do* it," Jason says, raising an eyebrow and showing his *teeth*. 

Bruce inhales sharply and *blinks* again. "I... believe that would count — *could* count — as sadomasochism." 

"If we do it *right*..." 

"By which you mean..." And Bruce licks his lips and searches *himself* somewhat *vigorously* — "If we do it in such a way that you're always *working* to please me — to *serve* me." 

"*Yes*, my liege —" 

"And if we do it in such a way that — that you're serving me even when I am — perhaps — begging you to *hurt* me." 

"Perhaps even —" 

"When you're *ordering* me to beg you to hurt me," Bruce says, and smiles... savagely. 

Jason shivers *deliciously* — 

"Jason." 

"Yes, my —" 

"*Do* it. Serve me... serve my *pleasure*. *Always*." 

Jason *groans* — and offers his own savage smile as he shuffles *back* on his knees — and then bows his head down to the *bed*. "As you *say*, my liege." 

Bruce *breathes* a growl... and cups the back of Jason's head. "Would this feel better on your neck." 

Jason sighs. "It would feel *different*. More... pointed, in some respects." 

"More detail. Now." 

"A hand on the back of the neck can seem helpful, and even soothing. *Bracing* —" 

"Whereas a hand on the back of the head is merely... aggressive?" 

Jason laughs darkly and smiles. "You can grind my face into the proverbial *dust*, my liege..." 

"Would you like that." 

"From you, yes —" 

"And only from me?" 

The return of Bruce's *question* marks is a fascinating development — but. Jason nuzzles the sheet just a *bit* pointedly. "There have been, in the past, others who have moved me the way you do —" 

"I want." But Bruce says nothing else. He — 

Jason knows this. Something about his *current* desire is causing him *distress* — and perhaps some degree of shame. "Please tell me, my liege." 

"Jason..." 

"Please... allow me to serve you." 

Bruce *pants* — and *grips* the back of Jason's head. "I want to watch you... making love with others." 

Jason grins. "That can be arranged. I would happily *service* anyone you wished me to —" 

"*Hnh* — *Jason*!" 

Jason laughs again. "No...? I would do it any way you wished me to." 

"You. I —" 

"I would..." Jason licks his lips. "Or perhaps you'd want someone to service *me*." 

Bruce's hand *shakes* on the back of his head. 

"Perhaps you'd want — no. I do *remember* how this conversational tack started. You'd like to watch me brought *low* by someone else —"

"*No* — I." And Bruce is panting, *clawing* at the back of Jason's head — 

Jason wills the shadow-tie out of his hair — 

"Oh — yes," Bruce says, and strokes through Jason's hair, loosens and arranges it around Jason's shoulders — 

"Do you like it?" 

"Very much so. It's... it occurs to me, belatedly, that every time I saw Mother with her beautiful hair down, it was because she was with *you*. Whether or not I could see you." 

Jason laughs just a bit *dirtily*. "I did my *level* best to find *many* ways to convince her not to pin it up, yes. But —" 

"I want... to see you dominated *properly*." 

Well. "You should consider looking in the *mirror* while *talking* to me, my liege —" 

"Jason." 

Jason sighs. "Yes, my liege, I do know whereof you speak —" 

"Then —"

Jason deliberately turns his head, surrendering the — wonderful — appeal of having his face pressed to the sheets so that he may *see* his liege — 

And Bruce takes a breath — 

And Jason raises an eyebrow — 

And Bruce smiles wryly. "I'm listening, Jason." 

Jason laughs softly. "Proper dominance — and proper submission — are not merely questions of knowledge, experience, and consent, my liege." 

"I — of course there must be desire, and *love* —" 

"Oh, yes. Though there are many who would say the latter was entirely optional —" 

"Even for — no, answer that question later." 

"As you say, my liege. But..." Jason smiles wryly. "Should you order me to submit myself to the *decidedly* sexual attentions of someone — *anyone* — who has moved you powerfully, who has aroused you, who has *inflamed* you to the point where the desire to *see* me submit to that person — to see me *used* *by* that person — makes absolute and perfect *sense* to you..." Jason laughs with relish. "I will be *eager* to serve in any way you *wish* me to." 

"Oh. Oh, Jason, I..." Bruce swallows and cups Jason's shoulders. "I see what you're saying." 

"Yes...?" 

"Simply choosing someone who I believed to be a proper and experienced dominant — someone who could *teach* me — would not be enough." 

"*Absolutely* not. Because...?" 

"Because they would not — necessarily — arouse me." 

"*Just* so. Many young men — and women, and otherwise — would be aroused by the very *randomness* of the proposition... but." 

"I... am not much for the chaotic." 

Jason laughs quietly. "No, you are *not*, my liege. But... perhaps there is already some measure of order within your sexuality?" 

"I..." 

"I'm reminded, once more, of those undoubtedly worthy young people you have *saved* from suffering at the hands of the *unworthy* —" 

Bruce *gasps* — and grips the back of Jason's neck. 

Jason hums. "Oh, yes...?" 

"I. I. I would want you to... touch them." 

Jason licks his lips. "Use them...?" 

Bruce pants — and growls. "*Pleasure* them." 

"The two need not —" 

"I want to see you. I want to see them... overwhelmed by pleasure." 

"Oh... yes, my liege?" 

"I... kneel up." 

Jason shivers happily and does just *that* — 

And Bruce cups his hips — 

And breathes on the back of Jason's neck — 

And *bites* the back of Jason's neck through the *hair* — 

Jason closes his eyes and smiles. "I quite like that..." 

Bruce breathes *hot* against the back of his neck while holding the flesh between his teeth — and then he wraps his arms around Jason and *rakes* his short, human fingernails down Jason's chest — 

Jason *gasps* — 

And Bruce *cups* Jason's pectorals and *licks* the back Jason's neck. "Tell me..." 

Jason works to *control* his breathing — no. Jason lets himself *think* about the fact that Bruce *Wayne*, his *liege*, has him on his *knees* — 

That he's breathing hot and *wet* against the back of Jason's *neck* — 

That he's *hard* against Jason's *arse* — 

Jason grins and does absolutely *nothing* to control his breathing. He pants, he moans, he *shakes* — 

And he licks his lips. "I will tell you *anything*, my liege." 

"There is... a girl in the class below my own." 

Jason hums. "Yes...? What is her name?" 

Bruce sighs and strokes Jason's nipples with his calluses — "Tell me if you like this." 

"Very much so —" 

"Her name is Dorothea. Dorothea Emily Verris Hamilton." 

"Does she have the presence to *carry* such a *weight* of a name?" 

Bruce breathes deeply — 

Roughly — 

"She is four feet, seven inches tall. Approximately." 

"Oh, yes —" 

"She is... no more than seventy-five pounds." 

Well, then. "Colouring...?" 

Bruce pants again — 

Again — 

"I..." 

"Did you want to see me tangle my hands in long, black hair like your mother's —" 

"She. Dorothea is blonde. And she is. Her hair is very thin. Very fine." 

Jason sighs and holds up his hands, making a show of looking them over. "I could push these *into* her hair..." 

"Yes." 

"I could *grip* her hair..." 

"Yes." 

"I could... hold her head still." 

Bruce breathes a *growl* — and bites Jason's *throat* — 

Jason smiles, and knows it looks *drugged* on his face. It's fitting — he *feels* that way. "I could hold it still for any *number* of reasons, my liege — *nnh* —" 

And Bruce bites harder — 

*Harder* — 

And *then* he pulls back, stroking up to *cup* the front of Jason's throat with his left hand and stroking *down* to *pet* Jason's cock with the right. 

"My liege —" 

"I understand... the philosophy behind this." 

Jason blinks. That's impressive, considering the fact that *he's* rapidly losing the ability to *spell* the word philosophy. But — "Yes?" 

"I understand that there must be..." A wet sound — Bruce had, perhaps, licked his lips. "If there is fantasy, there need not be... action." 

"I disagree *vehemently* —" 

"I... am not certain that Dorothea is entirely... pubescent." 

Jason *coughs* — "All right, I'm *tempted* to blush —" 

Bruce breathes a *soft* laugh. "But you'll restrain yourself?" 

"Oh, yes, my liege. By restraining *you*." 

"Literally...?" 

Jason laughs *darkly*. "Would you like that? I could —" 

"Don't," Bruce says, and *grips* Jason's cock with one hand — 

Grips his *balls* with the other — 

"I..." Bruce licks Jason's throat. "I love the way you smell. I love the way you *taste*. The — there is... so much smoke. And... metal?" 

Jason shivers — "I really do wear chain mail and set myself on fire *very* often, my liege —"

Bruce growls. "I want. Dorothea..." 

"Yes...?" 

"She has..." 

"I'm listening *attentively*, my liege," Jason says, and *strokes* Bruce's hands — 

"Your smile is... hm." 

"Yes...?" 

"You're amused by the problematic nature of this fantasy?" 

"My liege, I know nothing *about* this fantasy," Jason says with mock affront. "Yet." 

Bruce laughs — 

Jason *grins* — 

And Bruce bites Jason's ear *while* squeezing his sac — 

"*Oh* —" 

"She has... breasts." 

Jason pants. "Would you say they were... substantial?" 

"No." 

"Not even for her size —" 

"No." 

Jason laughs somewhat breathlessly. "Do you *like* them that way?" 

"I... have no idea," Bruce says, and the frown in his voice is *obvious* — and obviously confused. 

And desperately endearing. Jason hums. "What of her hips, my liege?" 

"I... try not to..." 

"Look...?" 

"She has... something of an hourglass shape." 

Jason hums appreciatively — and *grunts* when Bruce squeezes his sac *and* his cock — 

"It's quite subtle. I don't. I... I want to taste her." 

Jason smiles... and licks his teeth. "Do you want to lick the sweat from the hollow of her throat?" 

"Yes." 

"Do you want to taste the faint musk just behind her ear?" 

"Oh. Oh." And Bruce licks *him* there — 

And growls — 

"*Yes*." 

Jason laughs *delightedly* and *pumps* into Bruce's fist — just once — 

And Bruce growls again. "Do that. Do that again." 

"Yes, my liege —" 

"Don't stop." 

"Do you like —" 

"You are... I want to feel you *taking* my fist," Bruce says, and *that* was practically a growl — 

"I want to take every part of you —" 

"More. Give me —" 

"Tell me how —" 

"Show me —" Bruce bites Jason's throat, his shoulder, his *ear* — 

He *pants* into Jason's ear — 

"Show me how to *enjoy* my fantasy without shame and *fear*!" 

Jason's cock twitches *hard* — 

"Oh — and that, you —" Bruce groans and *squeezes* while he strokes — 

And Jason can be *precisely* what his perfect liege requires. He tilts his head back until his cheek is brushing Bruce's face, until they can touch more, breathe together, pant and be slick and *disreputable* together — 

"Yes — yes —" 

"You're *gentle* with her, my liege..." 

Bruce pants. "Am I." 

"You touch her..." Jason laughs softly. "You touch her *through* her clothes — she's very sensitive." 

"Oh. Oh, I don't. Know. That." 

"Perhaps you never will — but. She's sensitive for *you*." 

"Yes — no." 

"Bruce —" 

"For *us*," Bruce says, fierce and low as he *works* Jason's cock, as he presses his body still closer, grinds against Jason's *arse* — 

Jason shivers. "Yes, my liege —" 

"More." 

"She sweats for — us." 

"Oh — she wears _Hyacinth Weald_ perfume. She — it's very sweet. And mild." 

"You like it." 

"Yes, Jason. Please —" 

"It combines *well* with her sweat, my liege. You bury your — mm. Your bury your nose against her throat —" 

"Do I. No — more." 

"Yes, my liege," Jason says, licking his lips and rubbing his face against Bruce's, wanting — 

"*More* —" 

"You *bite* her —" 

"Where —" 

"Her collarbone. Her shoulder. The *base* of her throat — her scents are very strong there, my liege. I — please —" 

Bruce squeezes him *viciously* with *both* hands — 

Jason *groans* — 

"*More*." 

And Jason is *aware* that Bruce is punishing Jason for *Bruce's* desires, but this — 

Is a beautiful way to *serve*. 

"*Yes*, my liege," he says, and forces himself to thrust *faster* despite the pressure, despite the pain — 

Bruce grunts and *bucks* against Jason's arse — 

"You rip her boring little shirt open — " 

"*I* —" 

"The buttons go *flying*, my liege —" 

"You — you — don't *stop*!" 

"She's wearing..." Jason licks his lips and laughs softly, breathless — "I believe the children call them *training* bras now. She's not large enough for a *true* brassiere. And... she needs to be trained, doesn't she." 

"I..." 

"She needs to learn how to serve you — *us* —" 

"*Yes* —" 

"Pleasure is an excellent teacher, my liege..." 

"I want — I *want* to give her pleasure — she's teased so often and —" 

"You open her brassiere —" 

"Please — oh —" 

"Please stroke me —" 

Bruce strokes him *faster* — 

Jason *groans* — 

"*More*!" 

"*Thank* you, my liege. You bite her little nipples —" 

Bruce *groans* and thrusts — 

And thrusts — 

And *rolls* Jason's sac in his palm — "Give me — I want —" 

"You make her *mewl*, my liege —" 

Bruce sobs and licks Jason's *cheek* — 

"She writhes beneath you —" 

"She has to be *still*!" 

Jason *pants* as his cock spasms — "I lash her *down*." 

Bruce's cry is animal, *low* — 

He's thrusting *steadily* — 

"Does she. Struggle." 

Do you *want* her to — no. "At first, my liege... but then you bite her left nipple while *pinching* the right —" 

Bruce *grunts* — 

"*That* stills her *immediately* —" 

"Is she *frightened*?" 

Jason *considers* for a moment — 

Pants and *rides* Bruce's broad, slick *fist* — 

"She's too aroused for that, my liege..." 

Bruce moans softly — 

Hm. "Though you *could* scare her if you're not careful —" 

"No — *no*." 

"Not... yet?" 

Bruce *groans* — and does his *level* best to wrap himself around Jason from the back, to *attach* himself despite the pain Jason *knows* he's feeling from the brand — 

Truly, even if Jason *had* had the capacity to worry about how Bruce would conceal the *freshness* of the brand in school tomorrow before he'd *done* it — he wouldn't be worried now. 

"I need." 

"Everything is *yours* —" 

"Tell me — *give* me —" 

"You make her gasp over and over —" 

"Oh — yes —" 

"You *suck* her nipples —" 

"Both." And that was less a question than a spoken *grunt* — 

"You move back and forth between them. You..." Jason moans low and *hungry* — 

Bruce is *massaging* Jason's sac — "You like that. You. I don't want to *distract* you."

Jason laughs breathlessly. "I'll — I'll work harder —" 

"*Do* it." 

"You —" Jason shudders for the feel of Bruce's working hands, moving hands — 

"*Jason* —" 

"My *liege*. You *bite* a path to her navel —" 

"*Oh* —" 

"You do *not* break the skin —" 

"I *want* to!" 

"*Nnh* — but you *don't*, my liege," Jason says, moaning and *breathing* a laugh. "She's young. Soft. *Tender*. You must be *gentle*... at first." 

Bruce groans and *grinds* — 

"My liege..." And Jason licks his lips — 

Tastes Bruce's sweat and his *own* on his lips — 

"My liege... please fuck me." 

"I. I..." 

"Do *not* be frightened —" 

Bruce growls again and starts tossing him off *vigorously* — 

"*Oh* — or you could do *that* —" And Jason is laughing and sweating and — 

Perhaps using his shadows to encourage his liege a *little* — 

Grab his hips and get him *closer* — 

"*Jason*!" 

"You could —" Jason shivers and moans — "You could do both —" 

"I want — I *want* —" 

"Don't be *frightened*, my liege. You will not fail at this, and *I* will not *ever* stop —" 

"Teaching me. Guiding. *Shaping* —" 

"Arousing...?" 

And that was less a growl than a *roar* — 

And Bruce *grips* the back of Jason's neck in his *teeth* — 

Releases Jason's cock and sac and spreads his *arse* — 

And a part of Jason is only laughing joyfully, *incredulously* at the fact that he has found himself *here* tonight — 

A part of Jason is practically *burbling* at the fact that Bruce is only *thirteen*, that time is on *both* their sides, that Jason has potentially bought for himself a lifetime of love and sweetness and joy and *honour* — 

But most of Jason is panting, groaning, *wincing* for the way Bruce is biting him harder and harder and *harder* — 

Jason's cock is *spasming* for it, *aching* for the slight increase in pressure which will give them both — 

And Bruce *grunts* when Jason's skin tears for him — 

Bruce sucks and licks and moans and sucks *more* — 

And Jason is groaning for it, *fighting* back the shift as the shadows rise within him, as many — but *not* all — parts of him rise for the *threat* of it, the violence, the *pain* — 

The pain that makes him *harder*. "My liege, *yes*!" 

And Bruce is *clutching* Jason's arse as he suckles, digging in with his short little fingernails and thrusting awkwardly, viciously, *blindly* — 

Jason wants to *help* — but first he needs to *share*. He calls the dancing shadow to him, urges it to *slam* into his mouth, fuck his *throat* — 

Bruce *whimpers* against the back of Jason's neck — 

And then Jason makes the dancing shadow spill Bruce's hot, salty, *innocent* blood on his tongue, all over his tongue, all over his *mouth* — 

He keeps his throat *full* with the shadow so that he *can't* swallow — 

Not yet — 

Not *yet* — 

And Bruce is growling like an animal against the back of his neck, tensing, grinding, *thrusting* — 

Jason *needs* — 

Jason needs to *share* — 

"Jason — Jason, *please*!" 

And his liege needs the same *thing*. Jason swallows the blood *with* the shadow, taking everything and opening himself — 

And reaching — 

And *reaching* — 

Bruce *gasps* — 

And Jason smiles, knowing Bruce feels it, knowing Bruce *understands* it — 

"Oh. Jason..." 

_Yes...?_

"I feel —" _I hear I feel you are I have you are you are you ARE!_

_I am yours, my liege... make use of me._

"HNH —" _JASON!_

And it's not at all a surprise to be on his *face* again — 

_Jason Jason Jason —_

To feel Bruce shoving him down, *holding* him down — 

_So — you are — I need — I NEED!_

To feel Bruce's big, *strong* hands *molesting* him — 

_I._

And Jason laughs then, helpless and desperate and — 

"You're happy!" 

_*Ecstatic*, my liege..._ And Jason reaches back and spreads his *own* arse — 

And Bruce's groan reverberates in his mind, his heart, his *soul* — 

Bruce's groan takes the *world* even as Bruce's body *covers* his — 

"Jason — oh, Jason —" 

"I am *yours*, my —" 

And Bruce cries out in the moments *before* he shoves *in*, slick with nothing but *admittedly* copious pre-come — 

"*Hnh* — oh, *yes*, my liege!" 

And Bruce shakes like a *leaf* over him — 

Jason pants and laughs and *clenches* around heat, around a burn that feels *pure*, feels staggering and *wild* — 

Bruce *groans* — 

And Jason clenches *harder* — "Please, my liege," Jason says, and *grins*. "*Give* it to me." 

"I — I —" And the rest of that is a cry which sounds like its being ripped from Bruce's *chest* as he pulls out — 

Too *far*. "My *liege* —" 

"No — I —" And Bruce *helps* Jason to spread his arse — 

"Oh, *yes* —" 

Shoves *back* in — 

"Hecate's *cunt*, that's —" And Jason growls another laugh and holds Bruce with his *shadows* — 

"*Jason*!" 

_Use me, my liege..._

The sound Bruce makes is *shockingly* high-pitched, considering — but it *becomes* a growl as Bruce *ruts* his way in — 

In — 

*In* — 

And Jason hasn't *done* this in much too long, hasn't had anything *like* this since — 

Since the last time Martha had gotten stoned enough to *want* to shove her dainty little fingers — 

("Sometimes I think you want me to *fist* you, Jason..." 

"Nnh — *nnh* — sometimes I think about — about how many *rings* you wear, chérie — ") 

And they had laughed together, snickered like teenagers even as Martha had fucked him *viciously* — and bitten him with kittenish sharpness everywhere she could reach. 

This — 

This isn't vicious. This isn't cruel. This is —

"Jason!" 

This is rough, hungry — 

"Jason — you — *oh*!" 

This is brutal and sharp, pounding, arrythmic, *desperate* — 

"Jason, I can't — I can't stop!" 

This is the friction that makes him want to roll his tongue out again, makes his cock twitch, makes his cock *ache* — 

"Please! *Please*!" 

Jason opens his mouth — but the only things that come out are moans, each one louder and more shameless, more *greedy* than the *last* — 

Bruce is gripping him by the hips — 

Slamming in — 

Slamming *in* — 

And Jason is panting for it, clenching — 

Bruce howls and *yanks* Jason's arse back against him, nearly overbalancing them *both* — 

Jason winces and *spasms* again — 

*Again* — 

And — 

"*Jason*!" 

And Jason has other *options*. _Thrust *up*, my liege!_

"I — what — you —" _Pleasepleasepleaseplease—_ But Bruce does it — 

"*Yes*!" 

Bruce grunts in *shock* and does it again — 

And it's Jason's turn to groan like an animal, to toss his head and shake and — 

Fuck, he's not *stopping* — 

Well, that's *precisely* what he'd asked for — *begged* for from a decidedly uncaring multiverse — and this — 

Oh, this — 

Jason moans and *drools* for it, doing his *level* best to share *everything* he's feeling with his liege — 

"*Jason*!" 

Everything he can, everything he *is* — 

"I must — I —" And Bruce is *growling* again, snarling and fucking him *harder*, giving Jason — 

And the feel of Bruce's soul is massive, aching, *filling* — 

The thrust of it — 

The *size* of it, and all of its questions and urges and hungers and sadnesses and nobilities and hopes and fears and — 

Everything — 

*Everything*, because no one had ever *told* Bruce not to *throw* himself at hungry *witches*. 

Jason doesn't swallow. 

Jason doesn't *take* — much. He holds Bruce, though, and he tastes, and he lets everything Bruce is *ride* him the way his thick little *cock* is riding him, lets himself be filled, crushed, smothered, *taken* — 

Taken *over* — 

And it's wrong that he isn't shifting for this, that he isn't *becoming* something more like his liege, something *better* — 

"J-*Jason*! *Jason*, you feel —" _I NEED EVERYTHING ABOUT YOU!_

And Jason is faintly aware of the way he's grinding his *own* face against the sheets, of the way he's groaning and clenching more — 

*More* — 

He wants to — 

_Oh I feel I feel you so so YOU'RE BEGGING!_

Well, it's *excellent* that his *liege* can understand him, because frankly, Jason can't — 

Can't *focus* — 

His liege is *fucking* him so *hard* — 

And they're moving together, moving *smoothly* even as Jason *claws* at the sheets and Bruce claws at *him* — 

And now Jason knows that Bruce wants to be *utterly* inside him — 

That Bruce has longed to swallow and be swallowed — 

That this feels good, so good, so right, so frightening, so intense right brutal don't stop, don't stop, never *stop*, and — 

And Jason separates from his liege slightly, *gently* — 

Clenches for his liege and *holds* it — 

And Bruce screams — 

And slams *in* — 

And wraps an arm around Jason's *throat*, using *impressive* strength to jerk Jason *half*-upright and squeezing *hard* —

Jason croaks and spasms and comes in *shock*, shaking and laughing on the *inside*, *desperate* on the inside, because there's never been a boy so perfect — 

So *beautiful* — 

Jason spurts and clenches and *groans* — 

*Wheezes* when Bruce squeezes *harder* — 

Laughs and spurts *more* — is this a *fantasy* of Bruce's? 

Something he dreamed of for his little, *little* girl?

Someone *else*? 

Jason groans his way through *more* laughter, hungry and happy and *breathless*, shaking and *coming* — 

He supposes it's possible Bruce had watched his *father* fucking someone at some point and had simply blocked out the *memory* — 

But this laugh isn't *even* a wheeze, because Bruce isn't fucking Jason so much as he's *savaging* Jason with his *cock*. One *driving* slam after another against Jason's prostate, one *bruising* thrust — 

Jason will *never* give this *up*, and he makes sure Bruce can know that, can *feel* that — 

Bruce groans —

Bruce *sobs* — 

And he's shaking as he slams in over and over again, shaking and clawing Jason and shouting, *bellowing*, sobbing *more* — 

Every part of Bruce *inside* Jason's soul is speaking of intensity and *raw* pleasure — 

Bruce isn't positive that he *wants* to come — 

Bruce is using *phenomenal* control — and not a little *fear* — to hold himself on the *edge* — 

But Jason knows how to help with that. Jason grins and *yanks* the image of young Dorothea out of Bruce's mind and into the space their souls are *sharing*, shocked for a moment to find the girl utterly and *convincingly* naked — but of course there was that perverted and *nosy* little demon to be considered. 

It had *undoubtedly* sent a tendril of itself to follow the girl home — and into her *bath* — when it noted Bruce's *interest*. And that's all to the good *now*, because Jason can *use* those images — 

Those fantasies and imagined *sensations* — 

He puts the girl on her *back* in the hot and *pulsing* soul-space — 

_Jason!_

He licks her nipples wet and bites her throat — 

_Jason you please you!_

He spreads her coltish little legs and bends her knees up to her chest — 

_Oh oh oh oh PLEASE OH OH —_

He thrusts into her wet, *wet* cunt with his tongue in the same ragged and *relentless* rhythm Bruce is giving Jason's *arse* — 

But what are her cries? 

How will she — 

And then the girl simply *is* sobbing, moaning and babbling and trying to ride Jason's *face* — 

_Jason yes Jason please Jason JASON!_

And Bruce's voice is her own — 

And Dorothea's writhe is Bruce's *buck* — 

And the *force* of Bruce's soul is demanding, shoving, *wanting* — 

_PLEASE!_

_As you say, my liege..._

But Jason lets Dorothea drum her heels on his back just a *little* bit before he rolls his tongue back into his mouth — 

Before he rears up — 

Before he slips *in*, slow and careful, slow and gentle the way Bruce *can't* right now — 

_MORE MORE JASON!_

— and then he fucks the dream of the girl *good* and hard, holding her down by her slim, pale, *marked* throat — 

Holding back the cries Bruce *can't* quite imagine — 

Everything *of* Bruce is staring-studying-dreaming-holding *on* — 

_Let *go*, my liege..._

_MORE!_

And so Jason growls and *shifts*, letting himself be maned, clawed, fanged, *monstrous*; letting himself be dark and rough and *cruel* to the girl beneath him, this dream of innocence and passion and *lust* — 

One or both of them makes her open her mouth in a *silent* scream — 

One or both of them makes her *shake* — 

And then *Bruce* makes her *cunt* spasm around him, makes it *flex* as she comes — rather as viciously and *dryly* muscularly as an arse, as opposed to a cunt, but it still makes Jason shudder and ache and groan, makes Jason fuck harder, makes Bruce — 

— *replace* the girl beneath Jason with himself until there are decidedly *hairy* legs *pulling* Jason in — 

And in — 

And *in* as Bruce spurts and howls and shudders and *convulses* the universe within them *both*. He's gripping Jason with everything he *is* — 

He's shooting off and groaning like a dying *bull* — 

And then the connection between them sparks and flares and shivers them *both* — and Jason can feel Bruce's cock spasming in *his* arse, can feel the wet heat of his come and the scrabbling-desperate-*starved* grip of those puppyish hands — 

All *over* him — 

Clutching him and seemingly *trying* to bruise —

And Jason is... one person again. 

With a somewhat crowded soul. Jason laughs softly and scrubs his face on the sheets — no. He lets himself *fall* to the sheets — gently — so that Bruce's boneless and *graceless* sprawl on top of him can be rather more comfortable. 

He folds his arms under his head — 

Bruce groans. He sounds less like a *dying* bull this time than a hungover one — 

And Jason is *precisely* besotted enough to find *that* endearing, too. He grins at himself. 

And at the world.

And at his magnificent good fortune at — finally — having a Wayne cock up his arse again, and a future which seems likely to hold rather a lot more of the same. Life is — 

"I." 

— very, *very* good. "Yes, my liege...?" 

"I feel." 

Jason grins just a *trifle* more broadly. "You feel very *good*, my liege..." 

"I — hm. Yes, I do."

Jason laughs softly and clenches. Gently. 

Bruce groans like he's dying again — 

Shudders *impressively* — 

"I think." 

"Yes, my liege?" 

"I think... that you don't have quite enough wonder. Considering."

Jason laughs *meanly* — 

"Jason." 

"I —" Jason *coughs* his way through the rest of the laugh — "I assure you, my liege —" 

"Jason." 

"I... hm." Jason licks his lips and turns his head enough that Bruce will be able to see him clearly, though all Jason can see of *Bruce* is his mussed hair. "It's only that you're quite adorable like this." 

"Collapsed on top of you and wondering if one of the supernatural creatures inhabiting the Manor had found a way to bludgeon me while I wasn't paying attention?" 

"Well..." Jason shows his teeth. "You *were* rather *focused*..." 

"I... am still inside you." 

"To a certain extent —" 

"I have no idea why people ever stop penetrating each other, Jason." 

Jason coughs again — 

"It — I don't think you *will* be able to explain it to me satisfactorily." 

"I —" 

"Is this why Freud assumed that the concept of 'penis envy' wasn't utterly ridiculous?" 

"It —" 

"Was he *correct*?" 

Jason *snorts*. "No, my liege." 

"Are you —" 

"I'm quite certain, yes." 

"It's only —" 

Jason clears his throat — and raises an eyebrow. 

"Hm. I'm listening. Provisionally." 

Jason *laughs* again — "It... well. There *are* other sexual acts, my liege." 

"But —" 

"Other acts we have not yet *tried*." 

Silence — 

*Thoughtful* silence —

"I..." 

"Yes, my liege?" 

Bruce squeezes Jason with his arms *and* his legs. 

"Oh — thank you *very* much —" 

"You're quite welcome. It's not that I didn't enjoy fellating you." 

"I had noticed —" 

"And — everything else." 

"Yes...?" 

"But *especially* fellating you," Bruce says, and kisses Jason's ear softly. "That was... I've wanted to *use* my mouth on a lover, with a lover, *for* a lover..." Bruce shivers. 

"I look forward to giving you *many* more opportunities —" 

"I don't understand why people stop penetrating each other, Jason." 

Jason laughs *hard*. 

"It makes no objective sense *whatsoever*. I — unless." 

"Yes?" 

"Does it not feel as pleasant when one is *being* penetrated?" 

"I —" 

"Except that *that* makes no sense, because when you penetrated me with your finger — and with your *shadow* — I..." And Bruce moans — 

And squeezes Jason *tightly* — 

"I would like to spend a significant portion of every day making love." 

"As you *say*, my liege." 

"I would like — but — hm." 

"Yes...?" 

"It was very arousing to watch — and *feel* — you making love to Dorothea —" 

"I was *not* making love to Dorothea, my liege. I do not *know* her." 

"You were. You... I —" 

"I was *fucking* her," Jason says, slowly and clearly and — yes — with a great *deal* of relish. "Would you like to see that in reality, my liege?" 

Bruce pants — 

*Squirms* — 

"I..." 

"Yes...?" 

"I believe I'm going to have another erection... quickly." 

Jason laughs *delightedly*. "And this is just one of the *many* reasons why I *love* adolescents... but." 

Bruce sighs. "You have to go... before we make love again." 

"Yes, my liege, I do. Etrigan has been *very* patient." 

Bruce sighs *again* — and kisses the back of Jason's neck. "I can't help but feel that he would understand if... well." 

"If he reminisced about fucking someone *silly*, my liege...?" 

"Hm." 

"Yes...?" 

"Do you feel... silly?" 

Jason laughs and wiggles his arse *just* a bit — 

"Oh — nngh — *oh* —"

— and then he stops. "Perhaps less silly than *insouciant* —" 

"Jason." 

Jason grins and — doesn't clench. Much —

"Hnh —" 

"We're going to have to teach you to be *somewhat* more gentle —" 

"*Oh* —" 

"— for *other* people, my liege. *Not* for me —" 

"Are you —" 

"*My* arse is *well*-experienced with all *sorts* of vigorous activities, my liege. Other arses... are not." 

And Bruce's blush is *entirely* palpable, despite the fact that he's not *touching* Jason with any part of his face. They are connected — and Jason has no intention of teaching Bruce how to *dim* the connection between them just yet. 

Jason reaches back with one hand and strokes Bruce's hip. "You must *not* be embarrassed, my liege. I did not take the time to *teach* you how to provide slow, gentle penetrative lovemaking —" 

"*Why*?" 

Jason laughs *darkly*. "Because I wanted nothing of the *kind*. Because I *wanted*... your *force*." 

Bruce *grunts* — 

"Oh, yes, my liege. You *hurt* me..." 

"Jason —" 

"To a *certain* extent," Jason says, laughing again and clenching *hard* —

"*Jason*!" 

— and then he relaxes again and sighs *luxuriously*. "I *will* show you how to be gentle —" 

"Oh — *please*, Jason —" 

"And I *promise* to show you how to *enjoy* it." 

Bruce pants against the back of Jason's neck and says nothing — 

*Nuzzles* Jason's neck — 

"I... it felt... it felt very good to... lose control." 

Jason hums. "It often does, my liege. That is the *primary* attraction of it — and the danger." 

Bruce makes a bad-natured noise — though it does not *quite* make it to a mutter. 

Jason grins. "Yes, my liege...?" 

"I'm beginning to wonder if *everything* is dangerous." 

"According to me...?" 

"I... didn't say that." 

Jason laughs hard — and squeezes Bruce's hip *firmly*. "Worry not, my liege. I will *never* be the one *shackling* you to a life free of risk and experimentation —" 

"You'll just make me think deeply about everything I do?" 

"Oh, yes. You just might find that anticipation — detailed and *informed* anticipation — makes everything that much better." 

This time, Bruce's pause is distinctly thoughtful, and so Jason waits it out, *stroking* Bruce's hip with his hand and resting on his other arm — 

Inhaling *deeply* of their mingled scents — 

Wondering idly when Bruce will *realize* — 

"Oh... hm." 

Jason grins. "Yes, my liege...?" 

"I believe I just whined." 

"Not *quite* —" 

"Despite having only just had an orgasm that was — I can't seem to think of any adjectives which aren't actively religious in nature, Jason, and I find myself positive that you would find at least most of those *offensive*." 

Jason *snorts*. "Perhaps a *little*, but some leeway must be given for the fact that your sexual vocabulary is still quite new and limited, my liege." 

"Hm." 

"Yes?" 

"I... don't want to whine." 

Jason laughs softly. "You need not." 

"I... definitely need not." 

"There —" 

"Especially since I haven't the faintest idea *what* it would feel like to take someone gently." 

"Well, no, you truly don't." 

"Except that I *do* know that it would involve friction, and heat, and slickness, and — and *noises*, and the presumable pleasure of my partner, and the sounds he or she or — are there truly more genders?" 

"Many. Perhaps even infinite —"

Bruce's cock twitches.

Jason blinks — "Oh, yes, my liege?" 

"I... have many questions." 

Jason pats Bruce's hip again. "All will be answered in time —" 

"How *can* one tell if a woman — a *girl* — has entered puberty?" 

"Having a conversation with her tends to be an excellent *start* —" 

"Oh — Jason —" 

Jason laughs softly. "*Barring* that — though you really *shouldn't*, especially if the girl in question is interesting enough to make your *cock* harden for her —" 

"I..."

"Perhaps we'll take that sort of thing slowly," Jason say, and pats Bruce's hip again. "You could *watch* her even more closely than you already do. Does her weight seem to fluctuate? At specific times of the month? How clear is her complexion? How even is her disposition? If she carries a handbag of some sort, is she secretive about its contents? Is it capacious enough to contain 'feminine hygiene' products —"

"What are —" 

"I'll tell you *all* about them. But they tend to be rather bulky, as these things go. At least in terms of how small girls' handbags and purses and the like *usually* are. Fashion is sadism. If she carries a larger handbag, or if she carries a larger handbag one week out of the month..." And Jason raises an eyebrow. 

"I believe I see what you're saying. What other signs would there be?" 

"Does she blush when you gaze at her ever so intensely?" 

"I." 

"Does her breathing quicken? Roughen?" 

"It — *many* people find me *intimidating*, Jason. And — and *difficult* to speak with —" 

Jason laughs with relish. "Oh, I'll just *bet*. And I am, of course, *absolutely* positive that that intimidation has nothing whatsoever to do with your impressive size, magnificent ability to express yourself more articulately than the average *elocution* coach, and, oh yes, *staggering* beauty." 

"Oh — Jason —" 

"Does she try to get closer to you? Or some other boy? Some other *girl*? Has the scent of her sweat in P.E. *deepened* just lately? Does she have *other* scents that you've noticed? *Muskier* scents?" 

"I. Want." 

"Yes?" 

"I want to bury my face against her groin for... a significant length of time." 

"For *scientific* reasons, my liege?" 

"There are several reasons... why I don't want to answer that question." 

Jason laughs again and *squeezes* Bruce's hip. "I love you *madly*. Just remember to investigate from a *distance* *first* — *if* you don't intend to allow the young lass to express herself to you *verbally*." 

"Yes, Jason. And... I find myself thinking about other people." 

"Mm. While it *can* be true that hell is other people, there are any *number* of hells which are *infinitely* more entertaining than other, lonelier planes of existence." 

"*Oh*. What of heaven?" 

"I haven't the faintest clue." 

"You... no?" 

Jason grins just a *bit* predatorily. "I've never been invited to *any* of them, my liege. And, while I have known some few people who've been to one or two over the years, they tend to be much harder to *breach*, as these things go, than their putatively opposite numbers." 

"Hm. And you've had no business there? No... hm. I'm not quite sure what I'm asking." 

Jason hums. "I believe I know. I've given you *every* reason to consider my relationship with gods and the more powerful powers *actively* adversarial —" 

"*Yes*. And — isn't it? I would think you would want to —" 

"Beard the lions in their dens...?" 

"I... hm. Perhaps not, now that I consider the matter." 

Jason laughs softly. "There is *some* benefit to that sort of behavior, my liege — at times." 

"Yes?" 

"Oh, yes. As an example —" 

"When... one has a fair idea of what to expect from the den in question?" 

"*Very* good —" 

"And — when the element of surprise one can gain from choosing to enter the den when one's enemy has reason to believe you never would is quite great." 

"*Just* so," Jason says, and purrs *entirely* shamelessly. 

"I... imagine neither of these conditions are likely to be in evidence with the places where gods dwell." 

"*Not* so, my liege. When they choose to take themselves away from their magically-protected — and mortal-*faith*-protected-and-*constructed* — *homes*... well. Very *few* mortals design their gods and powers with the ability to build for *themselves*, and so, when they choose to inhabit spaces on less *rarefied* planes of existence —" 

"I'm not certain... that you should make war-strategy against gods as interesting as sex to me."

Jason bites the tip of his tongue for a *moment* — "Which of the two should be *more* interesting, my liege?" 

Bruce says nothing — 

Bruce *continues* to say nothing — 

"I... have no idea." 

"Would you like for me to give you an opinion...?" 

This time, Jason can *feel* Bruce frowning *thunderously* — 

He does not *laugh* — 

But Bruce does. It's a quiet thing — barely more than a cough and a *breath* — but it counts. 

Jason hums and smiles. "Yes, my liege...?" 

"A part of me... had begun the process of forming a complaint about you being altogether too diverting." 

Jason blinks — 

"Too *interesting*." 

"I —" 

"Too *worthy* a *companion*," Bruce says, laughing again and kissing the back of Jason's neck. "I wish to pull out so I can — no. I have no desire whatsoever to pull out. *Ever*." 

Jason *snorts* — 

"However... I do wish to meet your gaze again." 

"That can *absolutely* be arranged. This sort of thing is often quite easy when one is having vaginal sex with someone — though if you give an individual with a vagina as powerful an orgasm as you gave *me*, there can be *quite* a bit of swelling." 

"Oh — yes?" 

"Mm-hmm. *Always* ask the penetrated individual to tell you when they wish to be free of your lovely cock, my liege —" 

"I'm —" 

"Though when you *know* that the penetrated individual is late for an engagement elsewhere..." And Jason raises an eyebrow. 

"I... retract that near-apology." 

"*Excellent*. Additionally, you should ask the penetrated individual how *quickly* they wish to be free of your cock. Many people wish the process to be over as quickly as possible, even though *that* necessitates a degree of *roughness*. *Other* people wish for the process to be even more slow and gentle than sex with a small and terrified virgin should — theoretically — be. Still others..."

"Yes?" 

And Jason *forces* Bruce out with the help of his shadows and a smile. 

"*Oh* — I — hm." 

And then Jason uses other shadows to clean himself — to a certain *limited* extent — before turning over and resting on his elbows. "Yes, my liege?" 

"I believe I wished to have more control over that process." 

Jason inclines his head. "Then you will have it — in the future." 

"Yes? You don't prefer — no. You prefer what pleases me," Bruce says, and his tone is thoughtful... but also quiet and calm. *Secure*. 

Jason grins. "You're learning fast." 

Bruce raises an eyebrow. "You're teaching faster." 

"Am I...? I find myself *entirely* convinced of the need to keep myself *honed*, my liege — if only to keep *up* with you." 

Bruce hums. "You're going to turn me quite prideful." 

Jason makes something of a show of looking Bruce over — 

"Yes, Jason?"

"In *terms* of the so-called mortal sins —" 

"Jason —" 

"Pride *is* one of the more *useful* — and pleasant —" 

"Jason, you've spent much of the day *telling* me that hell — and demons — are entirely *real* —" 

"So I have," Jason says, and grins — and uses his toes to toy with Bruce's fuzzy little sac — 

"*Oh* —" 

"You'll note that I've said nothing of the kind about *religion*, my liege." 

Bruce blinks — 

And stares at him — 

And stares at something *deep* within his own *mind* — 

And generally looks — and *feels* — like a man — *not* a boy — who wishes to move *in* to a library and never speak to another living being *again*. 

Jason clears his throat — 

Vigorously — 

"I — wait one moment, please, Jason —" 

"My liege." 

Bruce frowns at him like *Thomas*.

Jason coughs a somewhat *chagrined* laugh. "You should, of course, spend as much time as you'd like *deep* in consideration of that thought —" 

"*But*?" And that... was the sort of aggressive which could get dangerous and problematic.

Jason *wets* his lips. "*But*, my liege, I ask you — beg you, truly — to remember that you need not do all that consideration *alone*." 

Bruce blinks again — and frowns.

"I am at your disposal, my liege... but I do not wish to be disposed *of*." 

"I... it seemed as though I was about to —" Bruce frowns more deeply. "I was thinking of... studying in solitude." 

Jason inclines his head. 

"Is that — it's incorrect?" 

"*Not* on its face —" 

"But in some other way?" 

Jason smiles ruefully, and — "I can be a coward, my liege —" 

"*No*!" 

"I can be..." Jason laughs quietly. "Your father never wished to be *interrupted* in his studies." 

And Bruce does not *flinch* — Jason finds himself abruptly and *deeply* certain that flinching will be an act Bruce performs nearly as often over the course of his life as he commits *rape* — but there is a certain *darkening* to his countenance. A *shrinking* of *self* — 

"I've already grown accustomed to having you, my liege," Jason says, careful to make the failing *his* — 

"I — I don't want to be — I won't *leave* you!" 

And Jason closes his eyes and shivers. He was not careful enough — but that does not mean he didn't need to hear just that. 

"Jason —" 

He opens his eyes again — 

And Bruce gasps softly. "You look so..." 

"Yes...?" 

"There is *intent* in your eyes again, Jason." 

Well. "I absolutely intend to always please you, my liege. And to always care for you, and to always be of interest *to* you —" 

"*Jason* —" 

Jason laughs softly. "And to be absolutely obsessed with you. And besotted with you. And not even a *little* bit sane *about* you," he says, and smiles ruefully. "My *reasonable* mind *is* aware that you would not desert me." 

"Oh. Yes?" 

Jason smiles wryly. "My reasonable mind is compiling a long, *thorough* list of all the ways every other part of my mind can prove to be... diverting —" 

"While I'm *studying*?" 

Jason laughs *harder* — and *pats* Bruce's sac with the pads of his foot. "Perhaps... when you've studied *enough*. On any given day." 

Bruce frowns, and — 

"Are you wondering about the definition of 'enough', my liege?" 

"Yes." 

"It *varies*..." 

"I — tell me more," Bruce says. *Orders*. 

"It varies a great *deal*," Jason says, and licks his *teeth* again — 

"Jason." 

"It... has a *lot* to do with how *erect* you are at any given time," Jason says slowly and *clearly*... and then looks down at Bruce's cock. Pointedly. 

It twitches for him. 

Jason smiles *delightedly* — 

And it starts to rise — 

"Oh... mm. But hold that thought, my liege," Jason says, and looks *up* again — 

"I suppose you think I shouldn't resent my penis as much as I do." 

Jason opens his mouth — and closes it. And raises an eyebrow. 

Bruce's expression is *painfully* sour — "Yes, it *does* give me a great deal of pleasure —" 

"Quite often, as these things go." 

"Yes, but —" 

"And it does *not* ask for payment." 

"I." 

"Not even for *flattery*, really, and even ones such as me are *desperately* vulnerable to the need for *that* —" 

"I find you very beautiful," Bruce says — 

"Thank you *very* much —" 

"Please don't make me — more — likely to ascribe independent emotional motivations to my genitals. Please." 

Jason *snickers* — 

Bruce *glowers* at him — 

And so it's *necessary* to wrap his liege in warm, friendly, and *moderately* perverse shadows as Jason himself stands and moves *away* from the bed — 

"Oh — oh, this is a very interesting hug." 

"Enjoy it *all* night with my compliments, my liege," Jason says, lifting himself from the floor and setting himself ablaze — 

Bruce *gasps* — 

And Jason winks at him through the flames. "Don't worry about your furnishings, my liege —" 

"I'm worried about *you* — but. You did say that you did this often," Bruce says, and blinks at him rapidly. "Why are you doing it *now*?" 

"To improve my overall *scent* — for Etrigan's aesthetic, anyway," Jason says, and shakes out his hair. "While I will *always* smell far, far too close to a human male witch for his tastes, the addition of smoke and the overall flaming _je ne sais *quoi*_ tends to be quite helpful –"

"You eschewed it often in the past for just that reason. Yes?" 

Jason laughs quietly... and inclines his head. "Which would just make him more likely to set himself — and whatever was *nearby* — ablaze. Which would just make *me* more likely to roll in something *disgusting* —" 

"I." 

Jason smiles ruefully. "I'm considering becoming somewhat less petty in my old age." 

"Please. Spend time. On those thoughts." 

"As you *say*, my liege," Jason says, and breathes the fire in — 

And in —

And in *deep* — 

"That's very attractive," Bruce says, and reaches toward Jason — 

And Jason grins and exhales a flaming shadow which coils itself into a Valentine's heart. 

Bruce breathes a delighted little laugh — 

And Jason plans many, many, *many* little tricks for his liege's delectation. For now — "Last questions before I leave you — if only in my physical form?" 

"Will you — please show me how it will *feel* to have you... inside me? Is that the way to express it?" 

"It's well enough," Jason says, and opens the connection between them as wide as it can *get* — 

And Bruce gasps and *immediately* reaches — 

And Jason's mind is a welter of questions about sex and metaphysics and religion and more sex, and sex with Martha, and sex with *Thomas*, and sex with *several* young people Jason does not recognize, and politics, and art, and *ethics*, and sex with several *adults* Jason doesn't recognize, and —

Bruce pulls back — with a beautifully *instinctive* gentleness — and pants. "I apologize —" 

"All is well, my liege," Jason says, shaking himself all over and swallowing the fire. "I plan to spend my dormancy *deep* in consideration of all of that." 

"Assuming I'm not interrogating you through Etrigan." 

Jason grins. "Assuming that. He *will* need to —" 

"I won't — I won't. I'm going to read. And plan what questions to ask in school tomorrow. And what questions to ask *you*... when I can't stand to wait any longer." 

"Do not *torture* yourself, my liege —" 

"I won't," Bruce says, and smiles wryly. "I plan to spend some time in contemplation of... delayed gratification." And Bruce looks at *Jason's* cock. 

For *several* seconds — 

With *relish* — 

Jason does absolutely *nothing* to stop it from rising for him — 

And Bruce sighs with pleasure and nods decisively, sitting back on his heels and looking up into Jason's eyes again. "Until we meet again, Jason." 

And that... was a *perfect* dismissal. Which is just as it should be for someone raised as Bruce has been, but is still *entirely* thrilling. Jason smiles — 

Bows — 

And swallows *himself* — or starts to. Etrigan stops him with something *like* a gentle touch to something *like* Jason's mental hand. 

_Yes...?_

_Thank you for continuing this... experiment._

And that gratitude, in and of itself, is its own continuation. _Thank *you*, old companion._

Etrigan laughs and gives him another *touch* of acknowledgment — 

And Jason sinks deep, and begins to wait.


	7. In the end, we are all at *least* as programmable as the device you're reading this on.

In the end, we are all at *least* as programmable as the device you're reading this on. 

_Jason...?_

Jason returns to awareness with a jolt — 

Tension — 

Rage and fear and the need to fight, to rip himself free of his containment, to free himself of everything dark, everything black, everything stinking of demons and binding and — 

_Oh — are you all *right*?_

And Jason recognizes Bruce, hears Bruce, *feels* Bruce — 

Feels concern and anxiety and *caution* — 

Because Jason was very, very close to striking out with *precisely* as much care and *discernment* as a rabid and *cornered* rat. *Right*. _You have my apologies, my liege._ And Jason relaxes himself at *speed*, though he can't quite bring himself to curl in on himself and surrender awareness — 

_You did nothing to harm me, Jason, but —_

_All is well,_ Jason says, and opens himself *slightly* — 

*Hopefully* not enough to intrude — more — on *Etrigan's* awareness — 

And thinking that is enough to show him the world through Etrigan's eyes: a quite literal hell-scape of endless blackened hills covered with blackened vegetation Jason knows from experience is, when crushed or shattered, sharp enough to bleed on. 

Etrigan is burning the already-burnt landscape solely by existing at — nearly — the full extent of his strength, and is moving toward a group of Xil demons who are managing to look *impossibly* fussy about the ledgers in their hands. 

The Xilac, as a species, tend to be *greatly* desired as bookkeepers, translators, and spies, though they also tend to be immensely *fragile*. This fact combined with their near-species-wide — and entirely comprehensible — *attachment* to corporeal existence also tends to make them terrible choices for positions in which physical *courage* is required. 

They — 

And then Jason realizes that he's teaching Bruce. 

That he'd begun the *process* of teaching Bruce helplessly, *reflexively* — 

_I quite appreciate it, Jason._

_I —_

Etrigan growls, and the hill he's striding across bursts *entirely* into flames before beginning to *melt*. The message is clear. 

_My apologies, old companion._ Jason pulls himself back *into* himself, forcing himself to *repress* his curiosity about the Xilac — 

About the ledgers — 

About whatever interesting — and doubtless incriminating to *someone* — information might be *in* the ledgers — 

He focuses on building something of an avatar of himself in the quiet *blackness* in the shadows of his soul — 

_Are you speaking of manifestations of deities in the world of mortals?_

And Bruce truly is *ludicrously* well-read. _Only *some* deities need to do that sort of thing, my liege._

_Oh. Yes? Most of them can manifest themselves as they are?_

_Oh, yes. Gods are often quite handy beasts._

_I. Hm._

Jason laughs and *tugs* on the connection between himself and Bruce — 

*Lightly* — 

And Bruce is there within him, around him, *through* him. Bruce is touching him and stroking him — 

Bruce is molesting and *examining* him — 

Bruce is *chewing* on him, which — _My liege._

Bruce materializes in front of him, dressed in a beautiful, perfect, and *painfully* conservative three-piece suit — with three of Jason's fingers in his mouth. 

Jason raises an eyebrow. 

Bruce hums ruefully and releases him. _I am... I would keep you close to me._

Oh... _In your belly...?_

Bruce blinks at him, which, with Bruce's spirit this close, is something that feels rather like being held down — gently — and *leafed* through like a large and recalcitrant book. 

Jason grins and makes a show of *licking* his avatar's fingers — 

_I don't think I want to *eat* you, Jason..._

Hmm... _That wasn't very *committed*, my liege..._

_I. Would like to make that statement more committed. Now._

Jason laughs — and shares an image of himself lounging seductively on an appropriately-sized serving tray — 

_I don't think the word 'appropriate' belongs in that sentence, Jason._

Jason laughs *harder*... and puts an apple in the image's mouth — 

_Jason._

_We should *examine* this, my liege —_

_How many sentient beings have you eaten?_

Well. Jason grins. _Should we count the ones I *didn't* kill first...?_

Bruce is shocked enough that his avatar flickers — 

Flows *into* Jason's and begins to *rifle* through him — 

All of his *self* — 

Jason sighs and places Bruce's rifling 'hands' *firmly* on the knowledge that, yes, Jason *did* in fact kill them all first — 

And then, once he can *feel* Bruce's relief, he places Bruce's soul and self outside of his own again. Bruce's avatar reforms itself in front of Jason, but this time Bruce is sitting on his heels, and wearing his school uniform. 

_You're ready to learn, my liege...?_

Bruce blinks — 

Jason smiles gently — and gestures to Bruce's clothes. 

Bruce frowns down at himself. _I've never understood why some clothes were considered more appropriate for education than others. Although it seems some deeper part of my psyche *did* come to understand that, eventually._

_Or it was simply well-trained by your assorted authority figures._

Bruce frowns more deeply. _I don't like to think of myself as that easily... programmable,_ he says, and then looks up with a smile. _Though I imagine you have a lesson about that._

_I do indeed, my liege. Simply this: You are a human teenaged male, and, as such, you are one of the easiest creatures in the multiverse *to* program. In *multiple* ways._

_Oh... dear._

Jason laughs *darkly*. _Oh, yes. You must keep this in mind, my liege. You must do your *level* best to keep this in mind each and every day of your *existence*. Because that mindfulness? May someday be your *only* weapon *against* the programmers of your acquaintance._

_That... is deeply grim._

_Yes._

Bruce raises an eyebrow, showing the sort of *instinctive* control over his avatar that really makes absolutely *perfect* sense for a boy who has spent as *much* time living within his — crowded — spirit as Bruce has. 

Still — _Yes, my liege...?_

_That lesson all but demands that I remain mindful — 'mindful' — at all times with *you*. And *against* you._

Jason smiles *slowly*. 

_Jason._

_My liege, I promise that you can trust me implicitly to serve you in all things, in all ways, until the very end of your days._

_Then —_

_I would, however, be *deeply* remiss in my duties to you — in my *service* to you — were I *not* to train you to view even the people you care for most with a *clear* eye —_

_Are you a cannibal, Jason?_

Well. Jason laughs low and just a *little* mean. _I've *never* eaten another formerly human witch whose soul was forcibly bonded to a fire-demon until neither of them was quite what they had been before..._

_Jason._

Jason sighs. _I know, you wish to scold me —_

_I *wish* to discover whether or not —_

_I've committed a sin, my liege? A *deadly* sin, perhaps...?_

Bruce narrows his eyes. 

Jason laughs again, but — much more gently. He raises between them, one after the other, images of a dog, a cat, a horse, a turtle — 

A squirrel — 

A parrot — 

_Jason, what are you —_

_These are all pets, yes? Animals which people keep in — or near — their homes specifically as *companions*._

Bruce frowns. _I... I've heard of people keeping such animals as pets, yes. Why —_

_They are not the same as other sorts of beasts, are they?_

_I've never had a pet of my own —_

_But you're familiar with the *sorts* of relationships people have with them, are you not? You're familiar with the fact that people have relationships with them, full *stop*._

Bruce frowns more deeply. _Yes, of course. I've watched several people mourning for the loss of a pet, or simply speaking with a pet the way they would speak to a friend or companion, or —_

_The way they would speak to a child, perhaps...?_

_I... yes._

_My liege. Somewhere in our world — no. *Many* places in our world, at many points in *time*, *all* of these animals have been considered *food*. In some places? They *all* still *are*._ And Jason raises an eyebrow. 

Bruce frowns more deeply. _Presumably, in those places, the animals were not considered worthy of — but._

_Yes...?_

_Of course... of course, it would be extremely unlikely for the horses of a horse-consuming culture to be, somehow, less worthy of companionship in their entirety than the horses of a culture where horses were..._ Bruce swallows and stares at Jason — 

*Into* Jason — and his touch is gentle, but very thorough indeed. 

Jason breathes and stills himself for it, gives himself *to* it — 

To his *liege* — 

And it does *not* take long for Bruce to shudder and sigh. _Life is... ultimately unknowable._

_For most, yes._

_Life — *sentience* — is something which is given to more beings than most humans understand._

_Or *wish* to understand,_ Jason says, and smiles just a *little* wryly. 

_You see no ultimate difference between the consumption of one sentient creature and another._ And Bruce looks at him with question in his eyes, despite the fact — 

But. Jason would've wanted to talk *this* sort of thing out, too at his — no. 

*Guthlac* would've wanted to run *screaming* from this conversation at Bruce's age. *Guthlac* hadn't *quite* gotten over learning that his beloved and terrifying mother had not *entirely* decided not to kill him so that she could take back her power and try to conceive a much more comprehensible *girl*-child with his father until Guthlac was nearly *three* — 

Which is not to say that Guthlac hadn't appreciated her candor. 

Eventually. 

Here, in this moment, he shares himself with his liege, shares his warmth and his shadows and his mind, *all* of his mind — though he does not force Bruce to *look* at anything within it. 

He holds his liege, avatar to avatar, and he says, _I have learned — the hard way in many respects — that it is a mistake to value one brand of life over another —_

_But —_

Jason laughs and pulls Bruce's head against his shoulder. _All right, no, let me rephrase: I have learned that it is often a *terrible* mistake to *pretend* to oneself that one *doesn't* value some brands of life over others *despite* the fact that there is little to *no* objective reason to do so. Life is life. Sentience is sentience. And? Murder is murder. Though —_

_Then why do you kill at *all*? Why — you're tempting me to take up *vegetarianism*, Jason!_

_Now don't be *drastic*, my liege —_

_Please be *serious* in this moment!_

Jason takes the *equivalent* of a breath — and strokes Bruce's avatar until he can feel every part of Bruce's psyche, every twitch of *agitation* — and then he soothes every last one of them away. 

_Oh..._

_Yes, feel *that*, my liege._

_I —_

_Shh..._ And Jason continues to stroke Bruce, and hold him, and *have* him — 

And it does not take long, at all, for Bruce's spirit to become something like the calm, warm pool that Jason is *bathing* in — for all that Bruce's avatar is still quite solid and Bruce-shaped in Jason's avatar's arms. 

_Better...?_

Bruce sighs. _Very much so. Though I wonder if I should be._

_Always in my arms, my liege. *Always*._

_I believe... that I'm going to have somewhat problematic associations for these moments from now on._

Jason blinks. _Yes?_

_Always in the past, when I've felt this calm, I've been imagining resting my head on Mother's breasts, the way I did after I was finished breastfeeding._

Jason says *nothing* — 

At all — 

*Whatsoever* — 

And Bruce laughs wryly. _Yes, I believe you see my point. I was never thinking about *sex* before... well. But you were saying?_

Was it something about your mother's nipples? No — no, Bruce could *hear* that — 

_I really *could*, Jason —_

_Terribly sorry —_

_I could also *see* Mother's nipples. The way *you* saw them. The way you saw them while *you* were consuming her milk._

Jason licks his lips — _I..._

Bruce's self has become an *aroused* glower, which is frankly *unique* — 

And impressive — 

*Much* like Martha's nipples while she had milk —

_Jason._

Jason hums and goes back to thinking about eating things. And people. And things people *other* than him *consider* to be people.

_I..._

_Yes, my liege?_

_I'm... not... certain that's... better._

_You're much less aroused than you *were*..._

_I would like to — I don't — Jason._

Jason laughs and *squeezes* Bruce's avatar, sharing his warmth and contentment and love — 

_Oh — yes —_

_Always, my liege. Always for *you*._

Bruce moans and seemingly does his best to wrap everything *of* Jason *around* him — 

Jason obliges, and they stay that way for several moments while Jason does *his* best to think of absolutely nothing disturbing — 

Or disquieting — 

Or disturbing, disquieting, arousing, *and* appetite-whetting all at once —

Bruce's laugh shivers the world and everything in it — it's possible that Etrigan feels it even through the wall *both* he and Jason have raised — and that is a truly wonderful thing. 

A *perfect* thing — 

He's made his liege *happy* —

Bruce hums. _You do it quite often._

Jason grins. _It's something of a raison d'être —_

_Tell me... tell me about murder. Or do you consider it 'killing'? I've read about the difference. Or — the difference as it's considered by certain religious scholars, and within certain legal systems._

_It *is* a useful distinction — for some._

_But not for you?_

_Murder. Is. Murder. 'Killing' — by the definition propagated by at least some of the religious scholars I *believe* you're speaking about — demands that one agree to the concept that some sentient beings are automatically worth less consideration than others. *That* is a very dangerous path to walk down, my liege,_ Jason says, and raises an eyebrow — Bruce can *feel* him doing it in this space.

Bruce hums ruefully. _Yes, I believe I see your point. And yet, you certainly didn't seem to consider the Bat to be an equal, or worthy of your respect in any way._

Jason grins somewhat rapaciously. _I most certainly did not, my liege._

_Then — no. Please explain this in detail, Jason. This is something I need to understand for... many reasons._

They are, in this moment, *both* thinking of Bruce's future — 

_Yes._

Jason squeezes Bruce more tightly. _The most important thing I can say is also the most honest thing, my liege: I am only a man. I can and do strive to be my best at all times in all ways, and to live by the code which makes the most sense to me intellectually, emotionally, and *spiritually*... but I am only a man. I am, at times, inconsistent. I fail — even at those things which mean the most to me. Or nearly the most. And, when I am presented with a sentient being whose behavior disgusts me — or even merely *upsets* me — in one way or another, there are times when I am infinitely more likely to treat that being as if it *isn't* a sentient being than I am to treat it as though it were. Even if that upsetting-to-me behavior is not — in its strictest definition — against my carefully-honed, well-considered, and thoroughly-*crafted* code._

_*After* I treat that being badly — in whichever doubtless *incredibly* violent and *final* way I choose to do so — I will then *immediately* tell myself that the maltreatment was provided evenly and judiciously. That, in short, I would've provided that *precise* maltreatment in the same ways for the same reasons and with the same *verve* to *any* sentient creature which *did* break my code —_

_I —_

_One moment, my liege. Please._

Bruce's frown — his sense of trouble and *difficulty* — is as palpable as Etrigan's wakefulness and *control* of their soul — 

Their *self* — 

But Bruce subsides, and is very clearly waiting. 

Jason sighs internally and forces himself *not* to force calm on Bruce. _I will convince myself that I had murdered the creature brutally in a *fair* manner, and I will ignore the various salient facts which would speak *against* that conclusion —_

Bruce makes an *unhappy* noise/sensation/*emotion* — 

_I will do all of this *because* I am a man, and because men are deeply and *profoundly* inclined towards doing everything — *everything* — in their power to help themselves think the *best* of themselves. *Always*. Even in the face of *rampant* hypocrisy. Even when the *same* man — like myself — *also* fights each and every day to live a life without anything which even *sniffs* of hypocrisy._

_However, there is good news. To wit: I will *not* do a very good *job* of convincing myself that I am free of hypocrisy. I will not do a very good job of convincing myself that I am free of the same prejudices — and sorts of prejudices — that afflict nearly *every* species I've stumbled across over the course of my rather *lengthy* existence. While I will not *entirely* fail at my terribly unworthy goal, I will fail *enough* at it that I will be incapable of viewing my actions as *correct* — to at least a certain extent. I will be *aware* that I have violated my code. I will be aware that I have turned my back on one of the few *constants* I have in my life — and for an immortal, there is *nothing* more valuable than a constant. I... must pause here. Do you understand that concept?_

Bruce's thoughtfulness is deep and thorough and *cool* all around Jason — 

Jason will never forget that Bruce is *Thomas's* son, too — 

_I... are you saying that your immortality has made the fundamental impermanence of everything else's existence more obvious — and more damagingly obvious?_

_*Just* so, my liege. Immortals, as a rule, are pack-rats — about everything from the clunky and tangible to the decidedly numinous and *intangible*. While many of us have found ways to maintain powerful and *exact* memories, such things can be cold and unsatisfying when one has nothing *but* the memory to hold on to —_

_Wouldn't the more numinous and intangible things be cold and unsatisfying, as well?_

_That is a good question, my liege. And the truth is that they *can* be for many — including myself. However, the numinous things which *I* hold on to — which I *grip* to myself with every *ounce* of force at my disposal when I am capable of doing so — are, quite often, what allow me to hold on to much, much warmer things. And people._

Bruce's avatar shivers within the soul-space — _Like me._

_Yes —_

_When you become aware that you have... no,_ Bruce says, and pauses, all over. The coolness and calm of his self shifts — 

Hardens — 

And shifts *again*, refocusing itself until Bruce is sitting on his heels across a small but *notable* empty space between them, until Bruce's avatar is very *pointedly* meeting the gaze of Jason's avatar. 

Jason inclines his head and shifts and reforms *his* avatar until he is *also* on his knees, and very *clearly* awaiting his liege's pleasure. 

Bruce nods once. _Becoming aware of breaking your code — your covenant? — causes a change within you._

_Yes, my liege. I —_

_I believe it must panic you to a certain extent,_ Bruce says, and raises an eyebrow. 

_'Panic' is a small word for it. I become... untethered within myself. Loose. Free. As free as *dust*. And terribly, terribly afraid._

Bruce narrows his eyes thoughtfully — and nods once more. _The loss of your code — even in small ways, even in ways which are closer to potential than truth — is representative of death._

_Worse than that. Or..._ Jason smiles ruefully. _Perhaps it's more that it feels like dissolution *without* death. I do not know for certain what I would become without a code, but I do know that that person would not be worth life — or those things and people which have made my life worth *living* for the past millennium._

_You meant the word 'dissolution' in multiple ways._

_In the end, my liege, they are all the same. The fact that I would not immediately crumble to literal dust were I to wholly abandon my code does not change what it would feel like. And what I believe it would look like to all the people I have loved the most over the years._

Bruce narrows his eyes slightly more — 

Nods thoughtfully — 

*Flexes* his avatar's hands on his thighs — _This fear — of loss, of the death of what most matters to you about yourself, of an eternity without at least nominally heroic purpose — is something which... creates you._

_Yes, my liege._

_It allows you to look at what you've done — when you've done something incorrect in regards to your code — and use your disgust for the act as something... foundational. Something on which to build and *renew* your code for some length of time during which you will do *nothing* to break your code. At the same time, your efforts to excuse your behavior — no. Your efforts to paint your behavior in a better light than it deserves — and your ability to see clearly that you're doing just that — allow you to view every incident in which you *do* go against your code with some degree of dark and rueful humor. Does this lessen the guilt?_

Jason allows every conscious part of himself to shiver. This *boy* — but. He will give answer *always*. _Yes, my liege. To all of the above. Guilt can be crippling. Guilt can drag even the strongest and greatest of warriors down to nothing — whether or not they truly *deserve* to be dragged down. Guilt, while a useful subset of the human emotional experience, and a *generally* impossible-to-escape aspect of the human *condition*... is also a weakness —_

_It is an additional — lesser? — part of your code to eschew guilt._

_It is an additional *and* lesser part of my code to *battle* guilt lest it cause me to forget all of the many, many reasons why it is, in fact, better for the multiverse that I live._

Bruce blinks and stiffens, avatar almost *flickering* — 

And Jason is not in the *least* surprised that he had found *that* statement more uncomfortable than the rest. _Humility is charming in its *place*, my liege. False *modesty* is foolish at best and *incredibly* harmful at worst, as it can lead to, among other things, an incredibly powerful witch and warrior who has spent a thousand years battling — and *besting* — the actively *malevolent* for the good of *all* to believe that the fact that he will never be a *perfect* man is reason enough for him to stop trying to even be a *good* man._ And Jason raises an eyebrow. 

Bruce wets his lips. _False modesty can combine with true guilt to form... doubt._

_Magic is, among other things, the art of the *will*, my liege. The will has no truer enemy than doubt._

_Pride is... useful._

_Just so. *Arrogance* is dangerous — and dangerously *stupid*. *Sociopathy* is... well. It's rather right there on the *tin* why *sociopathy* is dangerous. The same can be said for *psychopathy*. Hypocrisy, moral dishonesty, inconsistency... *all* of these are *precisely* as terrible as you have always believed, my liege. However: This does *not* mean that they are not all part of what makes humanity — and many, *many* other species — what they are. Nor does it mean that it is possible to *escape* them. *Nor* does it mean that you should flog yourself bloody and cloak yourself in itchy and boil-inducing *hair* shirts in some *ultimately* pointless attempt to *free* yourself of them._

_There was never *any* box full of humanity's ills that was locked up tight until some weak and innately sinful *female* opened it. Humanity is *itself*, my liege. I am *myself*. You are *yourself*. You will sin — and you will feel those sins cut you, and burn you, and *mark* you. A little more each time. What will make you a good man — a *great* man — will be your ability to take each scar you earn with your failures and let it teach you how not to fail *again* in the precise same *way*._ Jason laughs quietly. _And, of course, if it teaches you not to look down on your fellow sentient beings in contempt as *they* flail and fail and fall... well. Then you'll be even *greater*._

Bruce shudders. _I. I will not be a hypocrite —_

_You will. Someday. At least once,_ Jason says, and smiles ruefully. 

_I mean — I won't — I won't *judge* people for being — for failing the ways *I* fail —_

_You'll do that, too, my liege. I'm sorry for that._

_Oh —_

_*But* I will do my *level* best to guide you away from the *consequences* of ill-judgment. I will do my best to *share* my failures with you and thus hopefully *inoculate* you *against* them —_

_You'll educate me._

_*Always*, my liege._

Bruce shudders again — 

Again — 

His avatar flickers and stretches and shifts and *moves*, seeming to become one with the shadows in Jason's soul —

In rather dangerous ways — 

But before Jason can tug Bruce free again, Bruce's avatar is wrapped around him, clutching him, doing his best to *swallow* Jason in warmth and questions and need and what feels like the achingly *human* equivalent of a tectonic shift. 

He had warned Bruce about how very easy it is to *program* a young boy, and then he had immediately begun doing just that — 

More than he'd already *been* doing just that — 

And the changes in Bruce are massive and hungry things. He can feel Bruce wanting a library to *chew* through and he can feel Bruce wanting to *molest* Jason's *memories* of libraries. 

He can *taste* Bruce coming to so many *different* new conclusions — 

_They. They are all one. Ultimately._

And, perhaps, it was Jason's *turn* to shiver again. He holds Bruce tightly. _Tell me, my liege._

_I can see..._ Bruce sighs and turns his head against Jason's throat. _I can see my own hypocrisy very easily._

Hm. _Is it the sin you fear the most?_

_Yes. I believe. Father taught me that even people who believed things which seemed terribly incorrect — which *were* terribly incorrect — could still have a *kind* of honour if they took pains to always live *up* to their beliefs, whatever they were._

_Oh, yes. *Honour*. I am familiar with that sort of 'nobility' from my own youth._

Bruce stiffens — _You don't agree with it?_

_Do not mistake me, my liege — hypocrites are *nearly* always far less *palatable* than the alternative. However, over the course of my life I have met individuals who have honestly and purely devoted themselves to everything from the painful and *decidedly* bloody sacrifice of innocent virgins; to the extermination of any and every life form which did not fall under the very few and very *specific* categories recognized by the individual in question as 'pure'; to the possession, corruption, and *control* of people who would, if given their druthers, *much* rather remain *free*... well. Do you take my point?_

Bruce laughs ruefully. _There are... limits. To everything. Including the usefulness of aphorisms._

_Always. And I have come to be thankful for just that._

_Hm._

_Yes...?_

_Have you come to be thankful for the limits... or for the lack of absolutes, in general?_

*Jason* laughs. _I believe they are, if not *quite* the same thing, then very close, my liege._

_I'm not certain about that. There may be limits, after all, on the fact — the *idea* — of there being no absolutes._

Jason purrs. _Will you grow to be a philosopher, my liege?_

_I —_

Jason shows his *teeth*. _You could grow a beard to your very *waist* and surround yourself with lovely and thoughtful and scantily-clad young boys — and girls, and otherwise —_

_I thought you wanted me to do that anyway._

_Well... yes. But the *beard* would be different —_

_Jason._

_Yes...?_ And Jason smiles broadly, knowing that Bruce will be able to feel every bit of it, for all that his avatar can't see it — 

But there is a seriousness in Bruce in this moment that will not — *cannot* — be touched by the admittedly juvenile humor. 

There is a *solemnity*... _Bruce...?_

_I'm thinking about your agenda._

Oh... but. _I will not lie to you and claim not to have one, my liege._

_You'll just say that it's benign?_

_Not even that,_ Jason says, and strokes Bruce's avatar — again without forcibly calming him. _I have been given no knowledge that my association with you will be entirely beneficial to you — or myself, or the multiverse. I will make no promises of *that* sort._

Bruce neither sighs nor pants — his body is not *here* — but there is a sense of *both* things to the tension within his avatar, and within his spirit. There is agitation within his soul, a stillness which has been *lost* — _Jason..._

_You have my undivided attention, my liege._

_What do you want from me?_

Everything — _Everything I may have... but. I believe I know myself well enough, at this late date, to know that what would make me happiest would be continuing to serve you until the day you die, and being allowed to shape your life and your future children's lives to the point where you and your descendants will be deliriously happy as often as possible, useful to the multiverse as often as possible, and pleased to have me there as a *part* of it all... as often as possible._

_You don't... wish to be..._ And Bruce's countenance — those parts of it which are utterly tangible within this space they share — darkens *dramatically*. 

_My liege...?_

_I was about to ask you if you wouldn't rather be my lover than my vassal, but... you're already my lover._

Jason shivers *again* — _And I always will be... even if it must be only within my heart._

Bruce *clutches* him — 

And this time, Jason can't stop himself from soothing Bruce, quieting him, *holding* — 

_Jason..._

_You need never fear my desertion, my liege._

_I..._

_And I believe the concept you're looking for..._ Jason laughs softly. _No, my liege, I would *not* prefer to be your equal._

Bruce is silent and thoughtful — 

For a very *long* moment — 

_Why?_ And while there is honest curiosity — *confusion* — in Bruce's tone, there is also something small, and worried and *cold* —

_My liege, do you fear the *potential* distance between liege and vassal?_

More silence, but the cold is *melting* — 

And Jason nods. _It need never be *more* than potential —_

_Alfred. Alfred never sleeps upstairs._

_Mr. Pennyworth is *not* the same sort of servant I am._

_I know that intellectually —_

_But you have only been *exposed* to a very small variety of servants, yes, I see,_ Jason says, and pulls Bruce closer — 

Considers pulling Bruce *into* him — 

And Bruce's avatar... spreads, to a certain extent. Enough to begin *swallowing* Jason's own, which is somewhat *dangerous* — 

Though far, far more for Bruce than for Jason himself. 

_Not quite that, my liege,_ Jason says, and forces them into two separate beings within one soul again — 

_I want. I need. I can't be alone,_ Bruce says, and it's less speech than the desolate *sigh* of a wounded soul — 

_I am here... and a vassal is entirely comfortable sleeping at the foot of his liege's bed — or even closer than that — each and every night his liege desires him there... should such things *be* desired._

_I've thought..._ And the tension grows again — 

Flexes and *deepens* like muscle, like *breath* — 

_I've thought that partnership... could make such demands..._

_More palatable, my liege?_

Bruce's frown is *thunderous* again — but. _Yes._

Jason lets his avatar stretch in the equivalent of a sigh. _I will not say that every vassal welcomes the opportunity to live *utterly* connected to their assorted lieges —_

_But you — why..._

Jason strokes Bruce and waits. 

Not long — _I can imagine the pleasure of service. Of... dedication. Duty. Honour and reflected honour._

Jason grins. _It is an extremely *telling* commentary on us both that I have no difficulty whatsoever believing that statement of you, my liege._

_What — oh. It seems strange for... someone my age._

_Oh, yes. And for someone *of* this age, my liege,_ Jason says, and strokes Bruce more. _But you are remarkable in every way. Please continue, and continue allowing me to answer every last one of your questions..._

Bruce shivers again — _It — I was —_ He growls softly. _There's nothing *strange* about the pleasure you take in being a vassal!_

_No, there is *not*,_ Jason says, and laughs. _But are you trying to convince yourself, my liege?_

_I am... there is a great deal of literature which speaks of the *dangers* inherent to allowing oneself pride —_

_Dear one._

_*Especially* if one is being *seduced* into it, or — or if one is being *specifically* seduced into believing that one is worthy of pleasures and wealth other people are *not*._

Jason stretches another sigh. _Your mother would punish me *severely* for having allowed you to grow into a *Christian*, you know._

_I. I'm not —_

_Are you *sure*...?_

_I'm an *agnostic*, Jason.I... imagine that seems strange. To you._

_Yes, my liege. It does. For many, many, *many* reasons. Not least of which is the fact —_

Bruce laughs. _I'm not... unaware of everything you've said to me today. Nor do I think you're a liar, or a charlatan, or even someone who exaggerates for effect —_

Jason *coughs* — pointedly — 

_I don't think you exaggerate for effect when it would be *dangerous* for you to do so,_ Bruce says, and laughs again. _I am... the truth is that all of this — everything I've said in the past several minutes — is an attempt to distract myself from what... I don't want to say, at all._

Well. Jason kisses Bruce's temple. _Please tell me just the same, my liege,_ he says *firmly*. 

Bruce shivers. _I... believe you wish me to be a particular sort of man when I grow up. A particular sort of... hero._

_I do, my liege. I want you to be a great man, and a wise man, and a kind and open and *loving* man — as well as a strong and puissant and *vastly* dangerous hero. Dangerous to *all* who would stand against you *incorrectly*, that is. It —_

_I believe you want me to kill._

_I believe you made that intuitive leap... precisely as quickly as you should have,_ Jason says, laughing softly and pushing Bruce's avatar back *slightly* — only far enough that they meet each other's gazes. _There is nothing to fear —_

_Jason._

_There is *nothing* to *fear*, my liege. I have had *some* time in my dormancy to consider this matter — and some *few* others. I am *not* surprised that you feel some measure of *reluctance* toward treating the various criminals, warlords, murderous aliens, evil demons, Lovecraftian horrors, liches, hobgoblins, et cetera, et *cetera* the way *I* treat them._

_I — no?_

_My liege. I may have been born in an era when a starving crofter killing a rabbit for food in the wrong patch of woods could be sentenced to *death* for it — depending on how *much* of an arsehole the local lord was — with no one at all being particularly *surprised* by it, but I have not *lived* in that era for quite some time. I *work* with the Justice Society a *great* deal, and I *allow* them to, for lack of a better term, pin my *cock* back —_

*Bruce* coughs — 

And Jason laughs. _They have demanded that I murder *no* one when I work with them, and so I do *not*. Nor do I murder any of 'their' enemies even when we're *not* technically working together. Not even when the enemies in question *richly* deserve it *and* the multiverse would be much the better for it —_

_I. Had been wondering about that._

_Oh, yes...?_

Bruce smiles wryly. _No. But I should have been._

Jason *grins*. _You've had just a *few* other things to *consider*, my liege... but also yes. I have no intention of frog-marching you *anywhere*. I have no intention of *forcing* you to do *anything*. I —_

_Oh. *Oh*._

Oh, Bruce... _Yes...?_

_You. You want to be._ Bruce stares at Jason, studies him, studies everything *about* him, and his avatar is expanding again, reaching for every part of Jason it *can* — 

_You must be *careful*, my liege —_

Bruce *snaps* back into shape — _You want to kill *for* me!_

And Jason — moans. Knowing that Bruce had figured it out is *nothing* to hearing it, to feeling it, to feeling it *in* Bruce as he *shares* his wonder and confusion and need and *desire* — and *endless* desire to *understand*. 

_*Jason* —_

_It is said, by some, that wolves cannot be kept on leads, my liege. In my experience..._ Jason licks his lips and shivers. _In my experience, that rather depends on who is *holding* the lead._

_I._

_There's nothing to *fear* —_

_I'm not afraid. I am... I'm not sure *what* I am, but I know that 'afraid' would be an *inaccurate* description._

And that... is easy enough to confirm for himself. Searching Bruce takes barely a moment, and while there *are* anxiety, and worry, and even some degree of *trepidation* —

There is no fear. Which *strongly* suggests... 

Jason lets his smile be *precisely* as admiring as it should be. _Some part of you had begun preparing for *just* this conversation. Just this turn *to* the conversation._

Bruce raises an eyebrow. _I did imply that my earlier avoidance was conscious, Jason._

_So you did. Mm._ And Jason licks his lips again and thinks about making his avatar *curl* around Bruce's like a *cat* — no. Not yet. _Will you let me serve you as I wish to...?_

_Specifically, will I let you murder my enemies when they commit acts you deem *worthy* of murder...?_

Jason smiles even more broadly. _I would, of course, give you all the time and room to object you wished to *have*..._

Bruce hums. _I feel strongly that I should not be as amused as I *am*._

_'Should' is such a *sticky* word —_

_Jason._

_Stickier even — perhaps — than the issue of whether or not you would *trust* your faithful, loving, *dedicated* vassal to do what must be done._ And Jason raises an eyebrow.

_Some would question the definition — and even the place — of the word 'must' in that sentence._

_Really —_

_Considering the state of the world — the multiverse — we're living in. The multiverse in which you have *not* been allowed to commit murder as often as you've wished to._ And Bruce raises *his* eyebrow. Which — 

Well. _It is a multiverse in which men — and women, and otherwise — whom, as you point out, I have not murdered have instead lived to rape, and pillage, and destroy, and murder in their turn, my liege. Singly and severally. Quietly and loudly. On a small scale — and stage — and on much, much larger ones._

_And you're quite sure the tragedies —_

_*Crimes*, my liege._

Bruce hums again. _Let that question lie. Do the ends justify the means?_

Jason shows his *teeth* — *and* smiles. _Sometimes._

_How do you decide when they do?_

_When the ends are too wonderful — too beautiful — not to *strive* for in every way you *can*._

_I —_

_And when the means are not so awful and *ugly* that you cannot look at yourself in the eyes of the people you love and respect the most._

Bruce looks at him for a long moment — studies him. _That is... fluid._

_That which is inflexible in this life breaks far, far more easily than that which is *flexible*, my liege._

Bruce smiles *wryly* — _Again, a lack of absolutes._

Jason inclines his head. 

_Just the same..._

_Yes, my liege?_

_I believe you would be telling me a very great lie if you were to say you wished me to be as flexible as *you* are._

Jason *blinks* — 

And Bruce *looks* at him, steady and secure and *sure*. 

_I — my liege —_

_You want me to be a hero._

_Of course —_

_You *don't* think of *yourself* as a hero, Jason._

At what point is it appropriate to ask one's liege to simply *vivisect* one and have *done*? 

It would almost certainly be *faster* — 

Bruce would probably appreciate the *efficiency* — 

_Jason...?_

And he truly is — well. If he were simply *staring* at his liege, it would be one thing. However, Bruce is currently sharing space within Jason's *soul* — 

And that means he can *absolutely* see Jason staring at him while *simultaneously* doing his level best to make himself one with the *dimmer* shadows. 

It — 

_I... would prefer not being left alone —_

_I will never do that if I can at *all* help it,_ Jason says, *beating* himself back into his usual avatar — 

Back into the *light* — 

*Bruce's* light — _You have my apologies, my liege — and my apologies for being *dim* to myself._

Bruce raises an eyebrow at him. 

Jason smiles ruefully. _I stand by that statement, my liege. For a significant length of time in the altogether *too*-recent past, I honestly did not *realize* —_

_That you didn't want me to become as flexible as you yourself are? Truly?_

_Does it seem so strange? You remember your father clearly, and, perhaps, Jonah, as well. They were not the most *liberal* men. Nor were *several* of your ancestors *before* them. I had been telling myself — for quite some time — *beautiful* stories about Waynes who bent like *willows* —_

_As opposed to standing like oaks. Yes, I believe I see. Is there no room for middle ground?_

_There is *always* room for that, my liege,_ Jason says, and reaches to cup Bruce's avatar's cheek. For a moment, the texture has the incongruously warm *roughness* of an unshaven — and *hirsute* — man — 

The soft and sleek *brush* of *Martha's* *powdered* cheek — 

The silk-and-smoke *tease* of one of Jason's own *shadows* — and Jason smiles. _Are you experimenting...?_

Bruce blinks — _No, I —_ And the texture of his cheek is downy over smooth, save for the small, small patch where it has obviously been shaved. The perfection of it — 

The *accuracy* of it even in the face of Bruce's *inexperience* — 

*How* — 

_How *much* time do you spend *touching* yourself, my liege?_

_I... believe I should be embarrassed by that question,_ Bruce says, and *looks* at him.

Jason laughs hard. _On the *contrary*. I will always tell you — explicitly — when I feel you should be shamed —_

_And now is not one of those times._

_Not at all._

_Now is —_ Bruce stares at him in *consternation* — 

And Jason laughs *harder*. _You are doing far better than simply well at providing verisimilitude for the illusion of your *avatar*, my liege. And *infinitely* better on your first *try* than *anyone* else I have *ever* communicated this way with._

_I... was alone with the Bat a great deal, Jason,_ Bruce says, and... there is no amusement in his voice. 

Jason winces — and growls. _That creature held you this way?_

_Not — there was no... affection._

_No. Not that. But... it forced you to live within your own mind?_

_I..._ Bruce frowns. _It often didn't feel like my own mind._

Jason strokes Bruce's cheek with his thumb — no. He leans in and kisses Bruce's forehead, and — 

And knows that he never has to doubt Bruce's ability to translate the memory/thought/emotion to *sensation*. Bruce can *remember* the feel of Jason's kisses, ergo he can feel them in this moment. 

Jason will make sure that he will *always* be able to feel them — 

_I've wondered..._

Jason nuzzles Bruce's forehead for a moment, then leans back once more. _Yes, my liege?_

_I —_ Bruce smiles ruefully. _I actually had other questions for you. Questions I spent time thinking of while I waited..._ The rueful smile gets... more so. 

_While you waited for it to seem like it wasn't *too* soon to call on me, my liege?_

_Yes._

Jason stretches another sigh and strokes Bruce's mouth, feeling thin, soft lips — 

Slightly swollen and *softer* lips — 

Jason *presses* on Bruce's mouth and licks his *own* lips. _I want all of your questions. I need them._

_You... take pleasure from them?_

_You've made me feel happier and more *alive* than I've felt since the last time I was making love with your mother,_ Jason says, and offers his own rueful smile. _Every question is another *pulse*. Another beat of my heart —_

_I —_

_Or perhaps simply a reason for it to beat as fast and hard as it does._ And Jason grins. _You *thrill* me, my liege. More with each. Passing. Moment._

Bruce stares at him with wide eyes —

Swallows as his eyes *flicker* and shift to something wider, rounder, something with *grey* in their blue — 

And then they are only Bruce's eyes again, steely even as they fill with questions and need and *hunger* — 

_*Ask* —_

_How — how is death not the *ultimate* in absolutes? There are no *options* once the other person is dead. There is — there's no choice, and there are no chances for mistakes to be corrected, or — or — oh, you *know* what I'm saying!_

He does. 

He *does* — and he also knows that Bruce is *asking* these questions because he wants answers — no. 

He's asking because he wants to *be* answered, by *Jason*, whom he trusts to be able to *give* answer — and *convincing* truth. He will. Jason inclines his head again — 

_Oh — please, Jason —_

_*Nothing* can truly take away all options, my liege._

_No, I — you —_

_Action breeds action. *Inaction* breeds action — even if it is only the actions of those beings which exist *around* your static self, and which drive themselves to move in response to your *lack* of motion. Choice. Breeds. *Choice*,_ Jason says, and cups Bruce's face with both hands, *holds* him — 

Looks *into* him — 

_Dear one... oh, dear one, there will never be a moment when everything ends. There can't —_ Jason laughs. _You have no *idea* how much I *loathe* using the word 'never'. But — I use it judiciously. Were some desperately, dangerously, *powerfully* imaginative species somewhere in the multiverse to gather the overarching force of its collective unconscious and create a god who was, in turn, so desperately, dangerously, *powerfully* malevolent that it would turn its vast and unknowable powers onto the *destruction* of the multiverse as a whole... well. Can you guess?_

But Bruce is only staring into him in this moment, and — he is in need. 

Jason kisses Bruce's forehead again. _I will always give. *Always*. This: Choice breeds *choice*. The choice for our imaginative species to come together in creation and worship... breeds a dimension where people *just* like them in *every* respect choose something else entirely. The moment of creation... is, in another *several* universes, a moment of entirely *different* creation. Or destruction. Or *something else entirely*. The moment when our most *terrible* god, who is become Legion, destroyer of et cetera... is the moment where any *number* of other gods — not *just* the ones who are rather like him *save* for the destructive urges — rise up and strike *down*. Because? *This is where they keep their things*._

Bruce blinks — 

*Coughs* a laugh — 

_I — please, more!_

_As you *say*, my liege,_ Jason says, and smiles *broadly*. _Choice breeds choice in microcosm, as well — and in ways which never so much as *approach* the metaphysical. Consider: A man murders two *ridiculously* bratty young children. It is the end of two lives, yes? The loss of opportunity for education, change, growth, *potential*._

_*Yes*!_

_But consider *this*: With those two children dead, their parents — who had been quite poor — come into a windfall from the life insurance. Despite everything, they loved their children dearly, and so the wealth is, at first, ashes in their mouths... but gradually they come to realize that it will allow them to take in — and eventually adopt — *other* children who had lost their *parents*. Children who had perhaps been, before that moment, doomed to a life with substandard food, education, care... *et cetera*. Our grieving parents and grieving children can begin, with time, to fill the holes in each other's hearts. Life. Moves. *On*._

_I — but — that suggests taking a *laissez-faire* approach to tragedy, to — or, I suppose it could be termed a *philosophical* approach?_

Jason laughs darkly. _Never, my liege. *Never*. Christians — true Christians, that is, and there are few enough of those in this day and age in *our* universe, but bear with me — would have you believe that the proper response to being injured by one villain or another — one *monster* or another — is to turn the other *cheek*. To accept the misfortune which has been visited upon you as part of the mysterious plan of Jehovah — or of one of the other two beings who may or may not be part of him at any given time — and to simply *pray*. Not for a lessening of your burdens — or even for the ability to *understand* them — but rather for the capacity to accept them. To bear their *weight*, silent and calm and free of everything resembling even the most *justified* varieties of anger, disgust, hatred... well. To do *all* of that and to *also* continue living a productive life — as defined within the very specific strictures of your specific sect._

_*That* is what I think of when someone suggests that I attempt to treat injuries to myself and my loved ones as events to consider 'philosophically', my liege. The very idea is *ridiculous* — when it isn't *offensive*. When it isn't — quite frankly — *impossible*._

Bruce raises an eyebrow again. _And yet others — *many* others, by what I've read — seem to manage it well._

_Oh, they do, they do. Some of them do so even when tragedy befalls them *personally* and the *concept* of turning the other cheek must be considered in a way rather more visceral than the *abstract* —_

_You're saying that there's a great deal of hypocrisy within this belief system._

_Within this system and *all* others, my liege,_ Jason says, and tilts his head to the side. _You're wondering about the *split* within my apparent belief system, yes? My ability to speak about the necessity — the *beauty* — of working through and moving *past* the tragedies in one's life all while I'm speaking about the necessity and beauty of destroying the people who *cause* those tragedies with malice aforethought?_

_*Yes*, Jason. It would seem — I believe that it *must* take time to commit an act of vengeance *properly*. If only to be sure that your vengeance doesn't harm true innocents, that it's an act of justice as *much* as it's an act of vengeance, and that it's committed carefully enough to leave *you* at least *relatively* free of harm!_

_Planning is an *important* part of *any* venture —_

_And *while* you're in the process of planning —_ Bruce frowns and shakes his head. _I — I find myself unsure whether it's *possible* to do what's necessary to move *on* — emotionally or spiritually — from one's tragedies while one *is* planning one's vengeance._

And that... is a rather *painfully* cogent point. Considering. Jason smiles ruefully — 

_Jason...?_

_I have trouble moving on, my liege._

Bruce swallows and nods. _You have been... but. You've grieved before, and — you've had the opportunity to *act* against the beings who've *harmed* your loved ones before._

_*Far* more often than not — but._ Jason laughs quietly and pulls Bruce close to him again, pulls him — no. 

He pulls Bruce's avatar into a straddle of his lap, and he cups Bruce's hips — 

And he uses shadows to stroke Bruce's waist and thighs and cheeks and hair and chest — 

Bruce breathes a soft laugh that would — *perhaps* — be a giggle on some other, more *vibrant* child — 

And Jason never wants to be without *this* child, this beautiful boy, this perfect and moral and *questioning* young *man* — and whoever he will grow into, thanks, in part, to conversations like this one. _I have trouble moving on,_ Jason says again. _I am slow. I become bitter. I draw *out* my vengeance — even if I do not let my *targets* escape me for especially long._

_I — oh._

_Sometimes... sometimes, I draw out my vengeance specifically so that I may *avoid* the process of moving on. So that I may have an *excuse* to turn away from the burgeoning of emotions which taste like anything other than grief, and rage, and *pain* —_

_I — no._

_*Yes*, my —_

_No, I meant —_ Bruce breathes another soft laugh and looks up into Jason's eyes. _At first, I was going to scold you for giving in to the urge to wallow in negative emotions. And then I stopped myself, because I realized that I had a habit of doing precisely the same thing._

Jason raises an eyebrow. _Are you quite sure about that?_

Bruce raises *his* eyebrow. _Amazingly enough, Jason, I have been living in this mind for the past thirteen and three-quarters years._

_Oh, yes, you *have* my liege. But you were not *alone* for *much* of it._

Bruce *blinks* — _You're asking if *my* tendency to wallow was brought on by the Bat's... tenancy._

Jason inclines his head — 

_Was yours brought on by Etrigan's? The shadow's?_

_Not even *remotely* —_

_Then I believe you have your answer, Jason._

_Dear one —_

_Jason._

And that — was a *gentle* slap, but a slap just the same. There was a *sharpness* in Bruce's tone, a sense that the endearment 'dear one' was not *acceptable* in that moment — 

Jason licks his lips — 

And *bows* his head. _My liege. You have my apologies,_ he says, and then raises his head slowly. Judiciously. 

Bruce raises an *eyebrow* — 

And Jason smiles ruefully. _It is the responsibility of a *good* vassal to make absolutely certain that his liege is not being *unfair* to himself —_

_I was doing nothing of the kind, Jason._

_I am aware of that — now. More to the point, I'm now aware of the fact that *you* were fully aware of that fact._ And Jason smiles ruefully and strokes Bruce's cheekbones with his thumbs. _May I continue speaking? I have... a little more to say._

Bruce flares his nostrils as if he wants to know every *part* of Jason in this moment — 

Jason wants to know *him* — and always, always *have* him. 

_Continue, Jason. You... I must know everything about your philosophy on murder before I make my own judgments._

_I... should say that you can — and perhaps *should* — revisit this topic, and every *other* topic of importance, at multiple times over the course of your life, my liege._

Bruce lifts his chin *ever* so slightly — and then nods in acknowledgment. _That makes clear, objective sense. Go on._

Jason strokes Bruce's cheekbones one last time, then moves his hands from Bruce's face, preparing to tick off points on his fingers. _One: While many religions would have you take a philosophical approach to tragedy, still more espouse nothing of the kind — and what a given religion espouses often has little to *nothing* to do with what the god that religion claims to *represent* believes. Ergo, the concept of it being somehow 'sinful' to take vengeance upon those who injure you and/or your loved ones is at best arbitrary, often meaningless, and at worst altogether *incorrect*. Do you understand?_

_Yes, go on._

_Two: While it is infinitely better to allow the tragedies one suffers to teach one what lessons they can — if there *are* any lessons *to* be taught — and then move forward from them across the difficult and *painful* landscape of the five stages of grief until such time as one can be *happy* again... well. I submit to you that passage across that landscape, while delayed, can be somewhat easier to achieve emotionally should one *first* allow one's pain and *wrath* — and, of course, every bit of wisdom and care and *guile* one has picked up along the way — free rein as one takes one's *terrible* vengeance on the architect or architects of one's misery._

Bruce narrows his eyes thoughtfully. _You're saying that there can be... honest pleasure — relief? — in the enactment of vengeance._

_Of course. Forget what you've been taught by these Christian and pseudo-Christian *propaganda* machines. Vengeance is *not* solely the demesne of Jehovah — nor has it *ever* been. There is pleasure to it. There is *satisfaction* to it. There is relief, and joy, and *release*, for all that it may not come immediately, nor will it take *all* of your pain away. While you may come to eventually have a truly pacifistic love somewhere along the way who *would* truly be betrayed by your taking vengeance on their behalf — should they be injured in some way..._ Jason laughs with *low* pleasure. _Three: There are times when I have indulged myself with long and pleasurable and *deeply* ironic fantasies wherein I lure your mother's shade back to my side..._

_*Oh* —_

_... by swearing on my name, and my immortality, and every weapon I *own*, and my service to your *family*, and everything else that *matters*... to *not* seek vengeance for her murder. *Ever*._

Bruce *grunts* — and then laughs somewhat *roughly*. _I believe I can guess how she would respond to... that._

_Oh, yes...?_

_Yes. I — though. Hm._

_My liege —_

_It's only —_

_My liege, I can quite literally *feel* you thinking *Christian* thoughts again —_

And Bruce blinks. _I — hm. I believe I see... how much of an influence my early reading habits have been._

Jason stretches a *pained* sigh. _Yes, well. It was *quite* a popular idea for *many* of the European settlers of this continent to believe that their 'sinful' state — that the very makeup of their minds and belief systems and *personalities* — would be altered and beautified and altogether *perfected* if they lived good *enough* lives that their souls would be whisked to one of the *specifically* Christian heavens after death — and into the *scouring* presence of Jehovah._

_Where they would be... cleansed of the desire for vengeance,_ Bruce says thoughtfully, and nods. _I hadn't been thinking of gaining wisdom in the afterlife as a specifically Christian —_

_Careful, careful, my liege._

_I — what?_

_Be careful how you define *wisdom*,_ Jason says, and shows his teeth.

Bruce *blinks* again — 

Frowns — 

_I'm caught between the desire to view you as some particularly attractive serpent —_

_Dear one._

_And the desire to interrogate my parents at *length* over the question of why there weren't books focusing on *other* religious traditions in the library._

Jason laughs. _A much better question — especially because I can *answer* it._

_Oh. Yes?_

_Oh, yes, my liege. Your grandfather Jonah considered himself a *devout* Christian in his later years — and the confusion and *questions* in your eyes tell me all I need to know about how much *you* know about why that definition did not *work*._ Jason laughs heartily. _Remember, my liege: There is no hypocrite like a *religious* hypocrite. But onward: Your father was *deeply* troubled — and embarrassed — by both Jonah's religiosity — he couldn't *bear* to call it faith — *and* his hypocrisy. He put his foot down and refused to allow Jonah to speak to you about it. In return for Jonah's good *behaviour*... he allowed the many, many, *many* Christian texts to propagate in the *West* library — *not* the East — and, out of dutiful respect for the dead, he allowed those texts to remain there even after Jonah *finally* died._

Another slow nod — _I never spoke to Father about my reading habits unless the books were ones he explicitly recommended to me._

Jason raises an eyebrow — no. He can answer this question, as well. _Thomas had little *enough* interest in most fiction, dear one. In truth, he was not interested in reading anything which couldn't *teach* him something —_

_But —_

_*And* he most *assuredly* did not believe in the educational value of literature unless your *mother* was explaining it to him._

_I — hm._

_But we're getting a trifle *afield* —_

_No, I..._ And Bruce licks his lips and studies something within himself — 

No, Jason can feel him. He's *organizing* his thoughts, and doing it with all the ruthless efficiency of his father with his surgical tools. Jason can *absolutely* give him the time to do it.

Though — 

Bruce's countenance is darkening *dramatically*. Hm. _My liege?_

_It's — I need to think. More._

_Of course —_

_It's not an 'of course',_ Bruce says, steely-eyed and *growling*.

_No?_

_I don't... those other Bruces. They don't kill. They don't *murder*._

_No, my liege._

_Even the ones who have had Jasons at their sides._

_Just so, my liege._

_Did their Jasons wait to go to them until the Bruces were too old to be... programmed?_ And Bruce raises an eyebrow at him, but it isn't accusing, or harsh, or even the slightest bit hurt.

He is only firming a *point* within his own mind —

_Yes, Jason. Please tell me._

_Yes, my liege. I don't know *precisely* when the Jason who came to me went to *his* Bruce, but the implication he gave me was that *many* Jasons had left *many* Bruces alone for far too long, and that those Bruces — and their families, and their worlds — suffered —_

_From the Bruces' inability to learn difficult lessons?_

Jason shivers — _Yes, my liege. In *part*._

_I need to *think*. And I resent that,_ Bruce says — *growls* again. 

_Oh — dear one —_

_Were *either* of my parents sanguine about being slow *students*, Jason?_

And *that* was almost *hotly* angry — Bruce's avatar is so solidly present Jason can almost *taste* him. He smiles ruefully and cups Bruce's face again — 

_I — Jason —_

_One: Neither of your parents were sane. We've established that, haven't we?_

Bruce shudders — and nods, once. 

Jason nods in turn, and kisses Bruce's forehead again before pulling back. _Two: I did not *often* attempt to alter the *foundations* of your parents' *morality*._

_But —_

_*But*, when I *did* try? Well, *let's* see..._

_I... hm._

_Yes, dear one? Did you wish to *interject*?_

Bruce's avatar shows a *perfect* flush of embarrassment. _I believe you're about to say something about Father's inflexibility..._

_*Oh*, yes._

_And Mother's emotional..._ Bruce licks his lips. _Lability._

Jason snorts. _You're *absolutely* on the right *track*, dear one. But, all joking aside, do you take my point?_

_You... I was in the process of judging myself... too harshly._

_Oh, yes —_

And then Etrigan's heat *burgeons* within them... politely. 

Jason blinks. _One moment, dear one. Yes, Etrigan? Are we being distracting again?_

Etrigan rumbles like the crack and thunder of melting *rock* — and his wry amusement is clear. _Not at all, Blood. I merely wanted to offer... a thought. To your liege._

Jason blinks *more* — 

_Your perspective on this matter, or any other, would be greatly appreciated, sir,_ Bruce says, low and formal and *utterly* correct for a young man to his elder.

_You could learn from him, Blood._

Jason shocks himself with a *snort* — 

And Etrigan's avatar joins them in the soul-space with a sharp and rather *arsehole*-ish grin. He's banked his usual flames — 

Though not *entirely* — 

And Bruce is doing his *level* best not to stare. It may be the *most* adorable thing he's done in Jason's presence — 

Bruce shoots him a *glare* — 

Jason coughs and *behaves* — 

_You have never known the meaning of the word, Blood._

_*Very* true, old companion. Perhaps you'll teach me once *you* learn it._

Etrigan laughs out a belch of spirit-flame, but... his eyes are alight with far more *than* flame.

So are Jason's. 

_Anything is possible, Blood. But... I wanted to say something specifically to *you*, Mr. Wayne._

Bruce is studying *both* of them — he stops that and nods. _Please do._

_I must give you my thanks — my *gratitude*, which is deep, and true, and *abject* — for helping Blood to see the need for us to reconcile, since I was not brave enough to surrender my pride and share my own knowledge of that need._

Bruce blinks — _I... have questions, sir._

_Please, call me Etrigan. And I will answer the question which I can feel is paramount within you at present: Blood and I warred on each other for so long, and with so much misguided passion and vitriol, that there were times when I would catch myself *only* listing his many crimes against me — or my many vengeances taken against him which, of course, could never truly be considered crimes._

Jason smiles wryly. _I, of course, did just the same, dear one. Far too often._

_This, of course, merely fed into the desire to take *more* vengeance..._ And Etrigan shows his *teeth* —

_And more, and more... and earn more crimes — 'crimes' — against myself._

_I..._ And Bruce looks — and *feels* — *pained*, but... 

Etrigan belches more flaming laughter. _Still more questions? This one will keep you *busy*, Blood._

_And deliriously happy, bien sûr..._

_Mm. Very true. Your next question: I can — *we* can — let this — *all* of it — go, now, with *little* more than your strenuous urging, not because we've secretly loved each other all along —_

_And *not* because time heals all *wounds*, my liege. Time heals *nothing*. Remember that,_ Jason says, and shows his own teeth. 

Bruce nods. _I — yes, Jason. I will remember *everything* you've taught me._

_Good boy._

And Etrigan rumbles in approval. _We can release this war because we are old, and age brings — if you are even *slightly* sane — a sincere wish to be *safe in your own skin*._

_*Just* so,_ Jason says, and laughs ruefully. _Dear one, we have been unable to take a deep breath, close our eyes, and *relax* —_

_Even when we were in our own homes, surrounded by the strongest, most well-maintained wards and alarms,_ Etrigan says. 

_Even when we were surrounded by our most beloved and loving *allies*. Because, at *any* moment..._

_We knew the other could — and most probably would — strike for our most vulnerable places._ And Etrigan's flames flare in power for a brief and illustrative moment. 

Bruce winces. _I don't believe that I can ever truly understand what the two of you are saying —_

_I doubt that highly, Mr. Wayne._

Bruce blinks again — "You... do? I'm very curious about that. And please call me Bruce, Etrigan. 

_Thank you for that. And you understand because you have been living under siege within your own soul — without any of the niceties of privacy-walls or scheduling-agreements — for... six years, Blood?_

_Closer to seven at this point, old companion._

Etrigan growls. _Over half of your existence. Over half of the time you have spent sentient and *aware*. Blood has done an admirable job teaching you about the many different *obscenities* in this, but I assure you, Bruce — there are far, far more. There is nothing inherently wrong with the sharing of souls, but it must be done consensually, and it must *end* when *either* of the parties *wishes* it to end —_

_I — I didn't want to be alone!_

_But did you wish to be alone *with* the demon who was busily convincing you that no one else would ever *want* to be with you? Did you truly wish to share all of your time with someone who only insulted you, and abused you, and worked to convince you that all of your most pleasant memories of joy and companionship were the lies a *foolish* child told himself?_

Bruce shudders — and stands straight. _I — I quickly came to believe that it was all I could hope for, Etrigan._

Etrigan frowns — 

Bruce winces. _I apologize; I promise that I have learned this lesson, and that I will learn it more fully —_

Jason cups Bruce's shoulder and grips it, sends his avatar to hold, to *surround* — 

_Oh — Jason —_

_Shh. Etrigan is not disappointed with you. Are you, old companion?_

*Etrigan* blinks — _Absolutely not. I was plotting an extended campaign against several of the darkling species of demon I am aware of. We are not gentle with those who prey on the young, Bruce._

_We never have been, dear one,_ Jason says, and squeezes Bruce firmly — 

But Bruce is studying them both again — 

*Learning* them both again — 

Etrigan is sitting *still* for it — 

_Your liege is a fascinating young man, Blood,_ Etrigan says, amused and warm in multiple *ways*. 

_Well, *yes* —_

_I..._

They both turn to focus on Bruce again, who looks thoughtful in *different* ways. Lighter ways? _Bruce...?_

_This... is part of why you wish for me to express my fantasies. All of my fantasies. Why you wish for me to admit to them, and think about them, and — and *analyze* them. You want me to come to know the Bat's influence on me as entirely false and — and *base*, even when he was speaking about things which were true, or which I came to *use* in one way or another._

_I —_

But Etrigan laughs again. _He also simply wishes to *wallow* in filth he can *share* with you, Bruce. But... there is even more than that._

_Oh. Yes? Please tell me._

Jason *looks* at Etrigan — 

Etrigan gestures *grandly* at Bruce — 

Jason *snorts* and *coughs* — 

*Recovers* — 

_Yes, *well*, Bruce. A man with an active fantasy life which he *shares* with his lover — or lovers, plural — while also discussing the sticky psychosexual ins and outs of what the fantasies *mean*? Is *vastly* less likely to lose *control* of himself and *hurt* someone, whether or *not* he ever winds up acting those fantasies *out*._

Bruce nods thoughtfully again — 

*Frowns* — 

Jason hums. _More questions?_

Bruce frowns *thunderously* — and then breathes a laugh. _I... will never run out of questions, Jason, and Etrigan._

Etrigan lifts his brow-ridge. _Not for either of us?_

_I... your mother is a goddess...? How does she — She? — manifest —_

And then Bruce's avatar flickers — 

And flickers *dramatically* — 

_Dear one, are you quite all —_

_I —_ And, when Bruce solidifies, he is wearing silk pajamas instead of his school uniform. And an *exceedingly* chagrined expression. _Alfred. Alfred has just reminded me... that it is time for me to prepare for sleep._

Etrigan rumbles extensively. 

Jason bites the tip of his tongue. _So it is. I'll come to you, dear one,_ he says. _I will hold you in the night._

_Oh! Did you — with Mother — how often — oh. Alfred has cleared his throat. I..._

Etrigan laughs hard. _Blood and I have business to discuss for future missions, Bruce... but it will not take long. He will be with you soon._

Bruce looks to *him* — 

Jason inclines his head and grins — 

And Bruce's grin — wild and broad and deep and *precisely* as mad as it should be — isn't correct in the slightest. 

Jason takes it for himself.

There is not one thing in the multiverse which could make him surrender it.


	8. Dream a little dream of... cheerfully mutual obsession.

Bruce is asleep, and knows it. 

The black is absolute, thick and all-encompassing and *terrifying*. As usual, Bruce can see and feel *nothing* — not even his hand, which may or may *not* be in front of his face — but — 

But.

It's silent. 

It's *silent*. 

There are no screams, no shouts, no gurgling moans —

No scurrying rats or chittering insects — 

No blaring car horns for vehicles that don't *stop* — 

_But you may *call* all of the above into being if you *think* about them hard enough, dear one..._

Bruce blinks — 

Looks around and around — 

No, he still can't *see*, but he can *feel* Jason. Feel him... there, in front of him and moving closer, so much — _Did I call you?_

Jason — and the dark peels away from him just like it was never more, never *worse*, than his shadows — smiles at him. 

He's wearing his vanilla-coloured suit again, and his bastard sword — no. He's *glamoured*. 

He's *naked* — 

Except for the sword? 

Wouldn't it be terribly *uncomfortable* to wear nothing but — 

Jason laughs that — that *wonderful* laugh, so low and rich and thrilled and — 

_Jason —_

_My liege. *Ask* me the questions in your mind..._

_Will you always save me from my fears?_

Jason blinks — 

*Growls* — 

And then there is pain, sharp and *pricking*, just at the base of his *spine* — 

_Wake up, dear one —_

_I — I —_ Bruce opens his eyes — 

Blinks rapidly and confusedly — 

And, when he can focus, he can see Jason resting his head on the other pillow, sucking blood — Bruce's blood — from one claw. 

"Jason?" 

He tugs his claw free, then shifts the hand back to human in appearance, smiling ruefully. "I had not realized your dreamscape was hurting you so badly, my liege," he says, and caresses Bruce's face. He's truly naked now, not even glamoured, and — no, he must focus.

"It wasn't — I. It was much better. Than it has been." 

"But..." Jason frowns — and then nods slowly. "Yes, I see. Just the same, I believe I'll be monitoring your dreams as much as I *possibly* can for the foreseeable future." 

"I." 

"Mm?" 

Bruce feels himself blushing *terribly* — 

And Jason grins again. "My beautiful liege. I want to know *everything* about you." 

"Including... my dreams. I..." Bruce licks his lips. "I want the same, with you." 

Jason smiles ruefully. "Neither Etrigan nor I sleep, dear one." 

Bruce *stares* — but. "You... were not the only threats to each other." 

Jason inclines his head. "I promise to tell you *everything* I dream about while I'm wakeful, however." 

Oh. That...

Jason makes a soft sound, and pulls Bruce close, holding him in his powerful arms. Holding him close and warm and so — 

So very *safe*, because isn't the true definition of safety to *know* the dangers surrounding one at every turn? 

There is *no* one more knowledgeable about this than Jason — 

There is no other *kind* of safety —

"Oh, my dear one..." 

"Please. Please... tell me a dream." 

Jason kisses Bruce's forehead once — 

Twice — 

Over and over — 

"Please —" 

"I will tell you a dream of the future, my liege, and the *world* we will build together..."

Bruce shivers, and presses closer, and listens, and tries to dream of a world where love doesn't die. 

Where it is as constant, and true, and *strong* as Jason —

His Jason. 

Bruce licks his lips, and shivers again — 

He knows, now, that many more things are possible in this world — this *multiverse* — than once he thought.

And he knows that Jason will teach him about even more possibilities tomorrow. 

end.


End file.
